


He's Sick, He's Obscene

by ghosty (conej0s)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, POV Steve Harrington, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, basically it's an AU where all the monster shenanigans end after season two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conej0s/pseuds/ghosty
Summary: Billy runs away during spring break, and Susan needs a baby sitter for Max.Enter Steve Harrington.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler
Comments: 25
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, let's get some stuff out of the way: this fic depicts and addresses Billy's racist tendencies. I tried to be as tasteful as possible, but just know that there's some casual racism on Billy's part early on. Overcoming his bigoted tendencies is going to be part of his arc here. So, **content warning for racism.**
> 
> Steve is a little dumb and it's the eighties so it takes him a while to figure out the whole bisexuality thing. Be patient with him lol. The narration reflects his misconceptions/internal monologue, not my own views.
> 
> Also I had no idea what to title this, so uh. Have some Alice Cooper lyrics. The song is "No More Mr. Nice Guy," and it describes Billy perfectly.

Steve put his car in park and killed the engine. He was eager to get out of the BMW, which was sweltering after sitting in the sun all day. The hot vinyl seat pressed against his sweat-soaked shirt. The misty air offered no reprieve from the heat, instead making the air around him feel like a thick soup.

"Man, twelve in one day. That's gotta be a record," Dustin said as he opened the passenger door and clambered out. "This is good toad catching weather."

Steve stood by the door, shaking the collar of his shirt to try and air it out. "Well, I'm glad _they_ like it, but I'm not a slimy reptile. I think I prefer air conditioning."

Dustin led the way through the yards and onto the porch. "Dude, they're amphibians. I've told you like five times."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said dismissively. When Dustin was fumbling with the house key, he noticed that their shoes were caked in mud. "Hey uh, let's leave our shoes out here. You know how your mom is."

Dustin glanced down at his feet. "Good call," He remarked as he toed them off. "I'd rather not spend spring break cleaning the carpet."

He opened the door and started in, but stopped abruptly a few feet in, causing Steve to collide into the back of him. Steve craned his neck to see what Dustin stopped for.

Ms. Henderson was seated at the dining table, chatting with another woman who looked to be about the same age. It was unusual for her to have guests-- Mrs. Henderson was eccentric and introverted, and struggled to make friends with the other parents in the neighborhood. She generally preferred the company of her cat. The other woman was familiar, but Steve couldn't quite place who she was or where he knew her from.

"Mom," Dustin called as he walked over. "What's going on?"

She looked up. "Oh, there you boys are. I'm just having a little company. I ran into Susan at the bake sale this morning and we thought we would visit for a little while."

Steve leant down to Dustin's ear. "Who's she?" He whispered.

Susan overheard. "I'm Maxine's mother," She supplied.

"Oh," Steve said dumbly. "Uh, hey, I'm sorry again about what happened a while back, I was just watching the kids, and I thought you knew--"

"It's not your fault," Susan assured. "Maxine has some… wanderlust. I was just relieved that she was with her friends and not out alone somewhere."

Ms. Henderson perked up. "Oh, Susan. Why don't you ask Steve to watch over Maxine? He's a sweet boy, and he takes good care of Dusty."

"Mom," Dustin chided, face reddening in embarrassment.

Steve blinked. "Doesn't Billy usually watch her?" He asked.

Susan sighed, wrapping her hands around the mug of coffee in front of her on the table. "He disappeared this morning. He left a note on his bed, but he didn't give us any notice. It said he would be gone until next Sunday."

"Sounds like something he would do," Steve said wryly.

Susan nodded. "And Maxine is out of school this week. I don't know how I'll be able to focus on work while I'm worrying about where she is or what she's doing. With all these abductions on the news, and that boy who went missing here," She paused, staring into her coffee. "I'm just so scared something is going to happen to her if she goes out skateboarding alone."

Ms. Henderson clicked her tongue. "Things are more dangerous than they used to be, especially for little girls."

"My husband is really bent out of shape about it. I've been trying to stay out of the house today so he has time to simmer down," She said grimly.

Steve idly ran his fingers through his hair. "Hey, I might be able watch her. It's no big deal. I'm basically already doing it, since she spends so much time with Dustin."

"She said she was out with you all today. Something about... frogs?" She recalled, raising an eyebrow on the word "frogs."

"Toads," Dustin clarified, "we caught a bunch of toads at Lover's Lake and raced them."

Steve noticed the look of unease on Susan's face. "Don't worry. I dropped her off at your place on the way here."

"Also, toads don't actually cause warts. That's a myth." Dustin added.

Susan didn't look reassured. If anything, she seemed more concerned. "I better head back home, then. I just know they'll get into it about this situation with Billy." She said, standing up and pushing in her chair.

Steve had overheard a few of the stories Max told the other kids about Mr. Hargrove. If he'd have known the circumstances-- that he was home alone and having one of his episodes-- he probably wouldn't have dropped Max off. He feels his stomach sink with regret. Max trusted Steve. She even covered for Steve when her parents came searching for her and Billy the night the gate closed. He really owed her one.

"Wait," Steve said, "I'll take care of Maxine. She's a good kid. I want her and her friends to be safe."

Susan considered this. "Well, I'm not sure how much I can pay you, I mean--"

"You don't have to." Steve said resolutely, "It seems like you need the help."

Ms. Henderson stood up and pinched Steve's cheek. "Aw, I told you he was a sweetheart," She said, glancing over at Susan.

Susan chewed her lip, the line between her eyebrows deepening. "Well Steve, if you insist. Think it over, and if you still want to do it, swing by our house at around eight thirty Monday morning."

  
  
  


Steve rang the doorbell and waited. He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to wipe away the tiredness. He was beginning to second-guess his choice to give up a whole week of sleeping in for this, but he wasn't thinking about the trade-off when he volunteered to help. At the time, he just had a gut feeling that this is what he needed to do.

He heard some muffled voices and footsteps before the door finally swung open.

"You're right on time. Come on in," Susan said.

She looked frazzled, but sharp in her blazer and pencil skirt. Steve wondered what she did for a living.

"Neil," Susan called as Steve followed her into the kitchen. "Neil, this is Steve. He's the one who offered to take care of Maxine."

Mr. Hargrove grunted in response, but didn't look up from his breakfast. Occasionally he glanced at the still-folded newspaper next to his plate. He also looked like he was about to leave for work-- a slate-grey tie hung from the collar of his slightly-rumpled white dress shirt. 

Susan sighed and gestured to a piece of lined paper on the fridge. "Those are all the numbers you might need. The top one is my work line, and the second one is my husband's. If you call me and get a busy line, just try again in a few minutes."

Each line had a phone number and an address, in the neat, small cursive all suburban moms seem to have. He recognized the first address-- it was a small law practice he passed every day on the way to school. The second was unfamiliar to him aside from the street name.

"This isn't necessarily going to be babysitting. Maxine can fix her own lunch and such," Susan clarified, "All you really need to do is take her where he needs to go, and make sure she gets home before dinner. Normally I would be okay with her being home alone, but the story about that girl disappearing last year has me on edge."

 _Barb_ , Steve thinks ruefully. Since Nancy broke up with him, Steve often found himself thinking about the part he played in her disappearance. He wasn't going to let that happen again, especially not to any of the kids. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if one of those monsters pulled Maxine away.

"That, uh, that makes sense," Steve replied blandly, shaking away his thoughts.

Mr. Hargrove stood, causing Steve to jump. He placed his empty plate in the sink, and turned to look at Steve. His unreadable gaze made Steve feel like an ant being burned under a magnifying glass.

"Uh, nice to meet you," Steve said awkwardly.

Mr. Hargrove looked at Steve's hand for a moment before giving him a single, finger-crushing handshake. "You better take good care of her," He said firmly, "She _will not_ sneak out on your watch. Capisce?"

"Uh, y-yes, Mr. Hargrove, uh, sir." Steve stammered out. _Damn, and I thought_ Billy _was intense,_ he mused.

"Steve," Susan interjected, "there's some tuna salad in the fridge. You can have that for lunch."

Mr. Hargrove released Steve's hand and stalked away. "I'm gonna go start the car," he announced.

Susan didn't follow him. She waited until she heard the door close before turning to Steve. "Listen, don't tell my husband about it, but if Maxine wants to have her little boyfriend over, he's welcome. Just have them stay in the kitchen or living room, and make sure he's gone when Neil gets home."

"Why-" Steve began, but then he remembered the way Billy treated Lucas. He had a sinking feeling about why Billy singled Lucas out. Now Steve knew where Billy picked that up from. "Okay, I got it," he corrected himself.

"Well, that about covers it. If you need anything, just call," Susan said as she picked her purse up off the kitchen table and hung it on her shoulder.

"Wait," Steve said, brushing his hand against her padded shoulder, "Where's Maxine?"

"She's still sleeping, sweetheart." Susan answered as she walked out of the kitchen, "Just relax and watch some TV. She'll be up eventually."

Before Steve could respond, he heard the front door close. He stumbled over to the window and watched as Susan climbed into the passenger side of the car. Just as the car pulled out, she caught his eye and waved. He watched it until it disappeared over the hill at the end of the street. For some time after it was gone, he stared down the empty street, spacing out to the soft sound of the birds chittering, and of someone mowing a lawn nearby. He puts his hands in his pockets and turned around, taking stock of the house. It was still clear that the family hadn’t lived there long; the house was sparsely decorated, and there were a few lingering cardboard boxes. He walked through what he assumed was originally intended to be a dining room, but there was no table-- just a television, a weight bench, and some scattered boxes. He weaved through the clutter and stepped into the living room, which was considerably cozier. The leather couch creaked softly as he settled into it and kicked off his shoes.

He blindly ran his hand over the end table until he found the remote. He glanced over the bright rubber buttons before pointing it at the TV and switching it on. Several channels flicked by as he idly fiddled with the buttons. He settled on the one showing a college basketball game and tossed the remote aside. He wasn’t super invested in it, but Max was going to be awake soon anyway.

  
  
  


“Steve! Hey, Steve!”

He felt someone shaking his shoulder. Steve blinked open his eyes.

Max was staring down at him impatiently with her worn skateboard under one arm.

Steve sat up, glancing around him. The room was considerably brighter, and there wasn't a basketball game on TV anymore. He wondered how long he had been asleep. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“Yeah, I’m awake. Are _you_ awake?” She asked.

Steve combed his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. “Yeah, mostly,” he answered, “I was uh. I was waiting for you to get up.”

“Steve, it’s almost one. I was up like three hours ago.” She said tersely.

He frowned. “Why didn’t you come tell me?”

Max shrugged. “I didn’t need you for anything.”

“I don’t think that’s how it's supposed to work,” Steve complained, searching the floor for his shoes.

She withdrew her hand from Steve’s shoulder and placed it on her hip. “That’s how it works when Billy’s here. Well, except that he’s usually hungover, not just sleeping on the couch and pretending to watch sports like an old geezer.”

“Well, I’m not Billy,” Steve argued as he pulled on one of his Nike’s. He still couldn’t find the other one.

Max’s face fell. “I’m glad you’re not Billy.”

“And I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” He added indignantly.

Max rolled her eyes. “ _Sure._ Anyway, I was going to meet the Party at the arcade. If you’ve gotten enough beauty sleep, I could use a ride.”

"Sure, just give me a moment," Steve said, standing up to search for his other shoe. When he turned to peer over the couch, he noticed a group of framed pictures on a nearby shelf.

One of the pictures was of a chubby-faced baby in a white onesie. Its tiny hand clutched the ear of a stuffed Bugs Bunny, and there was only the faintest dusting of hair on its little head. Just above its eyes, there was a fading stork bite.

"Awww," Steve cooed, gesturing at the photo. "Is that you, Max?"

Max scoffed. "No, that's Billy," corrected, then pointed to a different picture. " _That's_ me."

Steve turned his attention to the other photo. A tiny, totally bald baby Maxine was balanced on Susan's knee in what looked like a professional picture. A yellow dress spilled over her pudgy little legs, and her head was adorned with a floral bonnet.

"It's hard to recognize you guys without your hair." Steve commented.

"Yeah, whatever. Find your shoe and let's go," Max pressed, clearly embarrassed.

Steve crouched down to peer under the coffee table, where he luckily found his other sneaker. He eagerly grabbed it and stood, hitting his head on the table on the way up.

Max cringed at the sharp thud and moan that came from Steve. "Geez, are you okay?" She asked.

Steve rubbed his head. "I'll live," he replied, standing on one leg so he could pull on his shoe.

He checked his pocket for his keys, then gestured for Max to come along as he headed for the front door. He heard her falling into step behind him as he opened the front door and walked down the concrete stairs.

"I wish my parents would stop being so paranoid," She complained, "Jesus, I'm thirteen. I don't need a babysitter. Uh, no offense."

Steve unearthed his keys from his pocket and unlocked the driver's side door of his BMW. "None taken, but you gotta admit, you wouldn't want to be alone for too long around here. You know, cause of the monsters and other crazy shit."

"It's been months since anything like that happened," she argued.

Steve opened the door and settled behind the wheel. "Don't jinx it. Last time, nothing happened for like a year afterward," He said.

Max opened the back door and tossed her skateboard on the seat. "Mom doesn't know about the Upside Down though. She just thinks some creep might try to kidnap me."

"I mean, she's not really wrong. I feel like that kind of stuff has been all over the news lately. People still think that's why Will disappeared," Steve said as he put the key in the ignition and the car whirred to life. He frowned. "Is that why Billy was so pissed off that night?"

Maxine climbed into the passenger seat and laughed ruefully. "No. Dad probably _made_ him come get me. I bet he just wanted an excuse to take his anger out on someone."

"Me and Lucas," Steve provided as they started down the road.

Max chewed her cheek. "Well, _you_. He already hated Lucas."

"What did he do?" Steve asked.

"Nothing," Max replied bitterly, "Billy's just racist."

Steve curled his lip. "That doesn't surprise me."

Max looked out the window. "He gets it from his dad," she remarked bitterly, "He wasn't always like that."

"Well, I don't think people are born assholes," Steve commented, recalling Billy's baby picture.

Max sighed. "Yeah. He wasn't as bad when our parents first got married. But," she paused, pursing her lips. "I think it started when he and my dad got into a big fight over his first girlfriend. He didn't like that she was Mexican, and he made them break up."

For some reason, Steve suddenly thought of Nancy. "Do you think he's jealous of you and Lucas?"

"Maybe. I think he also just likes to look down on other people. Nowadays he acts like dad was right to chase that girl away," She speculated.

Steve scowled. "What a douche. I don't know how that guy gets so many chicks."

"Well he exaggerates, for one thing," Max explained, "But you'd also be surprised at how many people just turn a blind eye to it."

They were quiet after that-- nothing filled the air between them but the metallic hum of the car's engine.

She was absolutely right. Too often, his classmates enabled each other's worst tendencies. Some of them would probably let Billy punch their grandma if it meant they got invited to the next house party. Shit like that is why Steve couldn't stand to be around Tommy anymore. It wasn't just that Tommy was an asshole, it was also that he was a shallow sycophant-- a lackey to anyone he felt could raise his social standing. It was pretty much a given that he would hop on Billy's coattails. Steve at least tried to be the guy's friend, but Billy barely even acknowledges Tommy unless he's being adulated.

Steve was so busy stewing in his thoughts that he nearly overlooked a red light and had to stomp down on the break.

Max lurched forward in her seat, the belt digging painfully into her shoulder. "Give me whiplash, why don't you?" She remarked.

"Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking," He said.

Max snorted. "Clearly not about driving, though," she quipped, though her expression softened when she looked over at Steve. "Hey, sorry for dumping all that family drama on you."

"Don't apologise. I'd be in a weird mood too if my brother ran away," Steve assured, "Well, if I _had_ a brother I probably would be."

Max absent-mindedly fiddled with the lock on the door. "Yeah," She mumbled.

The large neon sign in front of the arcade emerged from the trees as Steve turned the corner. His gaze flicked to Max. He knew she was troubled-- she always wore her heart on her sleeve-- but he didn't know what to say to comfort her.

He turned into the plaza and pulled into the first open parking spot he saw. Even after he turned off the ignition and pocketed his key, neither he nor Max moved to get out of the car. They sat in silence for several excruciatingly long seconds. He stared at her, but she didn't meet his eyes. Her mind was a million miles away.

"Hey," He began unsteadily, putting a hand on her shoulder, "You don't have to keep all this stuff to yourself, you know? Telling me or your buddies-- that's a good thing. Helps you make sense of it all. Keeps you from getting stuck in your own head."

Max sighed. "Sometimes I feel like they don't get it, though. Their brothers and sisters-- they're… they're not like Billy," She explained.

Steve rubbed her shoulder. "They can still listen to you, though. Make you feel better."

"Yeah. You know, these dorks are so different from my friends in San Diego, but when I'm with them, the crappy stuff all feels so far away." She said, the crease between her eyebrows disappearing.

Steve folded his arms and leaned on the steering wheel. "You're lucky to have friends like that. Not everybody does," he said, his words slightly muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. _I don't,_ he almost added.

She gave a small smile. "Thanks, Steve," She said, then opened the door unceremoniously and stepped out as if their serious conversation hadn't happened.

Max did a double-take when Steve opened his door. "What are you doing?" She asked bewilderedly.

"Getting out?" Steve supplied unintelligently.

She blinked. "You're not going in, are you?"

"I mean, I won't if you don't want me to." He answered, his hand stilling on the car door. "I don't want to like, cramp your style."

She rolled her eyes. "You might cramp your own style," She quipped, "But seriously. I don't mind. I bet Dustin will be glad to see you. It's just… new."

"It's not something Billy would do." He inferred, closing the car door.

She chuckled as they approached the storefront. "Not in a million years."

  
  
  


Watching Maxine really wasn't that different from what he already did with Dustin on the weekends. In many ways, she was more independent than him, so ironically, babysitting her was less like babysitting than hanging out with Dustin was. By Wednesday, he had gotten into a rhythm. He would see her parents off at eight thirty, fall asleep on the couch, and be woken up around noon to go somewhere with Max. On Tuesday, they went to the baseball field at the high school to play kickball, and on Wednesday, Will invited everyone over so he could teach Max and Eleven how to play DnD (which was definitely an ongoing process.) Then at around six, he'd round up Dustin and Max for the drive home. After he'd dropped both of them off, he would just sit in his driveway and smoke, thinking about how good it felt to be needed.

Thursday morning was damp like Saturday was, but not nearly as warm. If anything, it was unseasonably cold, and the sky was grey. When he was walking up the stairs to the Hargroves' front door, he would have sworn he felt a raindrop on the back of his hand.

Susan opened the door before Steve even got the chance to knock. "I saw you pull up. I have to say, I'm impressed with your punctuality." She said pleasantly.

In all honesty, he was just eager to get out of the house. It was clean and luxurious, but also lonely and boring. His mom was in Seattle visiting family, and his dad worked long hours. If he was lucky, his dad would sit on the couch for a few minutes to smoke instead of walking directly from the front door to the master bedroom. It was a trade-off, too, because as refreshing as it was to actually talk to the guy, Steve's dad was usually only interested in complaining about work and grilling him about his grades.

"Well, I'm used to getting up early for school," He said blandly as he walked through the threshold.

Without particularly meaning to, Steve wandered into the kitchen. It smelled strongly of coffee. Mr. Hargrove was standing at the counter, his back turned to Steve. When he turned around, he had an empty coffee pot in one hand and a full mug in the other.

"Morning, Mr. Hargrove."

He grunted in acknowledgment and looked out the window, which was lightly dotted with fresh raindrops. "Just after I washed the damn car," he muttered to no one in particular, shoving the pot back into the coffee machine.

Steve chewed his cheek. "I think it's supposed to be like this all day," he commented.

Mr. Hargrove didn't respond. He just took a large pull off his coffee and continued to stare out the window. Suddenly, he glanced back at Steve. "What do kids your age have against haircuts?" He asked, apropos of nothing.

Steve was too intimidated to feel insulted. "I, uh, I dunno, sir. It… looks cool, I guess." He stammered.

He took another long sip of his coffee. "You should care more about being respectable," he chided.

"Honey, ease off of him," Susan said from the living room.

Mr. Hargrove wordlessly finished his coffee and walked out of the kitchen. Steve swallowed dryly and took a seat at the kitchen table. The rain was coming down in earnest now, and the room was filled with the ambient sound of raindrops hitting the windows. He didn't care much for damp weather, mostly because of what it did to his hair. It also brought back memories of being soaked to the bone with mud after rainy football games.

"Steve," Susan called from the other side of the house, "Steve, could you bring me a pot from in there?"

He dutifully took one of the pots hanging above the stove and followed her voice to the empty room by the entryway.

When she saw him, she pointed to a small puddle on the floor. "Set it down right there," She said, then sighed. "I can't believe this leak is back. We had the roof fixed just a few months ago."

He placed the pot under the leak. "Is this an old house?" Steve asked.

"It's about thirty." She answered, straightening her blazer and smoothing her skirt. "It's so cute, though. It reminds me of the house I grew up in."

Steve peered up at the ceiling. There was a grey wet patch in the plaster directly above them. It was about the size of a grapefruit, and a droplet occasionally fell from the very center.

"Hopefully this is the only leak, but if you see another one, just put something down to catch the water and let us know about it when we get home." She advised.

"No problem," Steve said.

She turned and walked to the door, then stopped. "Oh," she began as she grabbed the knob, "Try not to track any mud in. The rug in the living room is new."

Before Steve could respond, she was out the door.

He waited until he heard their car pull away, then walked to the living room and settled into his usual place on the couch. He didn't bother turning the TV on. He just curled up with a throw pillow and closed his eyes.

  
  
  


"Steve, move," He heard Max demand.

Steve jolted awake. "Where are we going?" He asked blearily.

"Nowhere. Move your stupid legs so I can sit down." She ordered. This was the first time she was still in her pajamas when she woke Steve up.

He sat up and she settled next to him. There was a joystick in her hand. Its wire connected to the console on the coffee table. The TV was on, and there was some sort of game on the display. It was a mostly still image of bright blue and green shapes.

Max elbowed him. “This is two players, Steve. Take the other controller.” She said, gesturing to the controller on the coffee table.

“I suck at these,” Steve warned, “I can’t even tell what’s going on.”

“I’ll teach you,” She said, “So, it’s a swamp, and we’re the frogs. You’re the grey one and I’m the red one.”

“Oh. I see now. What do we do?” He asked.

She clicked her tongue. “Steve, it’s not rocket science. Just move the joystick to jump and press the button to eat the flies,” She explained, “But only _your_ flies-- the grey ones.”

He rocked the joystick around. His frog bounced between the pixelated lily pads. When a grey box passed over the frogs, he assumed it was a fly and tried to jump at it, but missed. Several more flies flew over, but he missed all of them. He was excited when he finally got one, until he realized that Max’s counter had already gone up to eight.

“Told you I suck,” He reiterated.

“Don’t be a shitty sport. This is the first time you’ve played. Obviously you’re not going to be good.” She retorted, “Hey, how come you don’t have an Atari? Aren’t your parents rich?”

Steve shrugged. “They were pretty strict with the TV when I was your age. They said it would rot my brain out.”

“That implies you had one to begin with,” She joked, side-eyeing him.

Steve caught another fly. “Honestly, maybe if they’d let me watch TV, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for trouble,” He posited, “It’s like, hey, no TV? That’s fine, I’ll just steal a case of beer and egg houses.”

“Did you get caught?” She asked.

Steve chuckled. “Of course I did. So my parents decided to have me try out for football and stuff. Y’know, so I’d have something to do with my time.”

“Oh. Do they… make you play sports?” She asked.

Steve’s frog narrowly missed a fly. “At first, yeah, but I started to like them. It’s how I became friends with--” _Tommy_. Who he _wasn’t_ friends with anymore. “Or uh, it’s how I made friends.” 

“I’ve never been into that stuff,” Max admitted, “My mom tried to get me to do gymnastics, but I was awful at it. Then she tried to get me to do tap dancing. Ugh.”

Steve glanced at her. “What about skateboarding? When did you get into that?” He asked.

She sighed. “Billy taught me.”

“What? But I’ve never even seen him on a skateboard.” Steve said incredulously.

She scowled. “Yeah, ‘cause he has a car now. But when our parents met, it’s how he got everywhere. I was nine, and I thought it was cool, so I asked him to teach me.”

“And he _actually did it_?” Steve marveled. He caught two flies in a row.

Her expression softened. “Yeah. He was… kind of different back then. Still a jerk, but... not as bad. He also taught me how to surf, but I’ve never been as good at it as he is. Or _was_ , I guess.”

“Huh. I have a hard time picturing that. Not the surfing-- I can imagine that. Him doing something just to be nice, I mean. It doesn’t seem like him,” Steve said. He caught another fly, and his score was beginning to catch up to Max’s.

She bit her lip. “Well, it’s not really my business, but he stopped seeing his mom around that time, and I think that maybe…” she trailed off.

“Maybe?” Steve pressed.

“I think the less he saw her, the more of a jerk he became,” she finished, “He had no one to look up to besides Neil, and well… you know what he’s like.”

Steve missed several flies. His score began to lag again. “Did she, um… you know. Pass on?”

“Oh, no. She kind of ran away? Oh god, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” She stammered.

Steve scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay. I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you,” She paused, her brow furrowing. “That’s… where Billy is. He went to see her.”

He felt a small twinge of guilt. “Shit, really? I thought that maybe he went to Cape Cod or somewhere like that. Y’know, to party.” 

“I bet that’s what he’ll tell everyone at school,” She speculated, “He wants everyone to think he’s hot shit.”

Steve set down his controller. “And they _do_! They watch him start fights and carve up desks and think, ‘wow, what a badass,’” He scoffed, “Nancy was totally right. It’s a bunch of bullshit.”

“That’s why I’ve given up on trying to be cool,” Max said, placing her controller next to his. She slid off the couch and opened the cabinet under the TV. “I think it’s better to find friends who like you the way you are.”

She rifled through the cabinet for a little while.

“What are you looking for?” Steve asked, craning his neck.

“I can’t find one of the tapes, it’s green and it-- oh no,” She began.

Steve blinked. “‘Oh no?’ What ‘oh no?’ Did something break?”

“No,” She spat, “He took the tapes again. Why does he _do_ that?”

“Who, your dad?” He asked.

She stood and stomped off to some other part of the house. “No,” she yelled, “my brother.”

Steve followed her to a room near the front of the house, where he could hear her opening and closing drawers. His face immediately fell when he walked through the threshold.

There was no mistaking what this room was. It reeked of cologne and cigarettes. There were posters on the walls, mostly of bands Steve recognized only one or two songs from. Beer cans and cigarette butts littered every surface. Even though it was the middle of the day, the room was dark, like a cave. The curtains were drawn, and one window was covered entirely by a sheet tacked to the wall. The shelves in the room were lined with cassette tapes instead of books. There were dirty socks and briefs scattered on the floor, and by the closet, there was a gym bag Steve recognized.

He walked over to Max, who was rifling through one of the dressers. “Max, what are you _doing_? Billy’s gonna know you were going through his stuff, and then he’s going to kick _my_ ass because I let you,” Steve warned, pulling on her shoulder.

“Relax, Steve. He only cares about his porn and his grass.” She assured him.

Steve ran his hand through his hair. “What are you even looking for?”

“One of the Atari games. I think the tape is green. He thinks some of them are ‘his’ even though dad says we have to share them. It’s so dumb, he almost never plays them anymore.” She explained.

“Can’t we just play one of the other games?” He whined.

“No. Help me look for it. It’s called Surround.” She ordered as she moved to investigate the closet.

Steve scanned the room, but he opted not to touch anything. He could only _imagine_ what this place would look like under a blacklight. His eyes were immediately drawn to Billy’s tape deck and speakers-- he had a decent setup. Jonathan would have been impressed with the tape collection Billy had going. In a different life, maybe they'd have even been friends. Steve examined the speakers more closely and noticed that all the levels were cranked up. _Thank Christ I don’t live with this guy_ , he thought.

“This place is a dump,” he observed, “He seriously brings chicks here?”

“Steve, I asked you to _help,_ not stand around and talk,” Max nagged.

“Fine,” he grumbled, crouching down to half-heartedly look under the bed. There wasn’t anything resembling a tape, just more cigarette butts, beer cans, and a loose shirt. Just when he was about to stand up, though, Steve noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He did a double-take, because he could scarcely believe it. Against his better judgement, he reached out to grab it, and when he held it in his hands, he didn’t even know how to react.

Steve had found, under Billy’s bed, a _gay porn_ magazine. _Freshmen_ was printed across the top of the cover in bright, bold letters, and below it there was a picture of an athletic guy in only a jockstrap. Steve blinked down at the magazine for a few seconds, his mind completely blank.

“Steve!” Max called, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

He threw the magazine back under the bed and bolted up, nearly slipping on a stray sock.

She pointed to a high shelf. “I found it, but I can’t reach it. You know what to do.”

“Sure! No problem!” Steve said, his voice going up an octave.

Max gave him an odd look. “Sorry if you saw a used condom,” She said.

He plucked the tape off the shelf and dropped it into her hands. “Uh, yep! Pretty gross, haha,” He agreed stiffly.

“That’s Billy for you,” she agreed, nodding sagely. “Let’s get out of here. I’m tired of looking at his dirty underwear."

  
  


Steve was in a haze for the rest of the day. The weather was eclectic-- there was a half hour of sun at noon, hail right after that, and it alternated between light rain and a heavy downpour until dinner. There was nothing he and Max could really do in the inhospitable conditions outside, so they spent the afternoon playing video games. The bright colors and loud sounds were a nice distraction from the thunder, both outside and in Steve’s mind. He was really beginning to see the appeal, though he still wasn’t particularly good at them. Max easily beat him at everything they played, which Steve was okay with. So long as she was focused on the games, no more serious conversations about family melodrama were coming up.

Ordinarily Steve was okay with those topics (a skill he acquired from Nancy), but given the circumstances, he really didn’t trust himself not to blurt out the probing questions that bounced around in his mind. Did she know? Did her family know? Was the magazine just part of a prank? Did _she_ put it there? Maybe it wasn’t actually his, somehow. There were issues of Penthouse elsewhere in the room, after all, and that poster of Shauna Grant. Maybe it wasn’t porn-- Steve didn’t actually look inside, so it could have been some kind of sports magazine. What if it _was_ his, and it _was_ porn? Steve suddenly remembered all the uncomfortable exchanges he’d had with Billy in the shower. Then he remembered seeing Billy hit on Tina and Amy in the hallway, and the lewd remarks he made about Nancy’s mom. None of it seemed to add up in Steve’s mind.

They must have lost track of time, because they were in the middle of a game of Combat when the front door swung open. Steve glanced at his watch: it was past five-thirty. He hadn’t even heard their car drive up through the sound of the rain.

“We’re home,” Susan hollered. Her shoes squeaked on the floor, and her curly red hair was flattened by the rain.

Mr. Hargrove just lumbered in quietly, wearing the same disgruntled expression he always had. Steve wondered if his face was just stuck like that.

Susan walked into the living room, and her eyes widened when she saw Steve. “Oh, you’re still here!”

Steve set the controller down next to him on the couch. “Ah, well, we couldn’t really go anywhere because of the rain, so we just stayed in.” He said.

She turned her attention to Max. “Did you have a nice day, sweetie?” She asked, leaning down to pat Max’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it was fine. Kind of boring, though.” Max replied.

Mr. Hargrove stalked into the room and looked pointedly at Steve. “Isn’t your family expecting you?” He asked curtly.

“No, not really, sir,” He answered, trying to sound firm, “My parents are really busy with work this week.”

Susan clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Aw, why didn’t you say something sooner? You can have dinner with us if you’d like,” She offered.

“ _Susan_ ,” Mr. Hargrove cautioned.

“All of my recipes serve four. We would have plenty for him,” She argued.

Steve put his hands in his pockets. “Uh, only if you really want me to. I usually fix something for myself at home, so it’s really not a big deal.”

"I insist. You're doing this all for free. The least we could do is feed you."

  
  
  


“Careful, it’s hot,” Susan said as she took the pot of pasta off the stove and placed it in the middle of the table.

Steve helped himself to a glass of milk before taking a seat at the table. He watched the steam billow off of the pot as Susan distributed scoops of hot pasta with a serving fork.

She dropped a generous portion on Steve’s plate. “Maxine, dinner!” She called as she dropped the serving fork into the pot.

The static sound of the TV switching off was followed by footsteps. “Coming,” Max said as she bounded into the kitchen and over to the sink. She quickly rinsed off her hands and dried them on her pants before dropping into the empty chair across from Steve.

Mr. Hargrove crossed his arms the table as he waited patiently for everyone to be seated and served. He studied Steve with an unreadable expression.

Susan pointed to a bowl and took a seat. “Help yourself to the sauce and meatballs.”

“Thanks, mom,” Max said flatly as she spooned a few dollops of sauce onto her pasta.

Mr. Hargrove took his share of the meatballs, and after Susan served some to herself, she emptied the rest of the bowl on Steve’s plate.

He looked down at the huge pile of food. “Thanks,” he said bewilderedly, and shoveled some into his mouth.

“I hope you did more than just play video games all day, Maxine,” Susan said wryly.

Max forked a meatball. “I did the dishes,” she offered, “and some of my homework.”

Steve quietly worked on his pasta. He could still feel Mr. Hargrove’s eyes on him, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He elected not to make eye contact.

“So,” Mr. Hargrove finally began, “Steve. Do you go to school around here?”

Susan stirred the sauce into her pasta. “He goes to school with Billy, dear. They’re on the basketball team together, remember?”

“Right,” He said, pausing to take a bite.

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek. “You might have seen me at games,” He put in.

“I haven’t been to one,” Mr. Hargrove said frankly.

 _Neither has my dad,_ Steve thought bitterly. “You should uh, watch us play sometime.”

Susan patted Steve’s arm. “He’s very busy, dear, and those bleachers are hard on his back.”

Mr. Hargrove grunted an affirmation through a mouthful of pasta, then swallowed. “Back when he played baseball, I went to his games. Don’t know why he chose basketball over baseball.”

“I, uh, don’t know either, sir. Maybe he just likes basketball better.” Steve replied, taking a bite of one of his meatballs. They were breadier than he preferred, but he didn’t complain.

Mr. Hargrove sawed a meatball in half with his steak knife. “He coulda’ played both,” He grumbled, “but I guess he’s too busy smoking dope and playing with his hair like a sissy.”

“ _Neil,_ ” Susan said softly.

“Actually,” Steve corrected, setting down his fork, “He plays really good ball. He’s one of the best guys on our team, and we’re closer to state this season than we’ve been in years.” Steve couldn’t believe he was defending _Billy,_ of all people, but the words seemed to come out of his mouth on their own. It wasn’t like they were untrue-- as irritating as the guy was, Billy _did_ genuinely excel at basketball.

A tense silence settled over the table. Max gave Steve an incredulous look, and all he could do in response was shrug and pick his fork back up. Susan shifted the conversation back to Max, and the two of them chatted idly about school and her friends while Steve and Neil wordlessly ate their dinners.

“I would never have signed up for the AV club at my old school, but I think I really like it,” Max admitted as she pushed the last few pieces of pasta around on her plate.

Susan pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Did they have one at your other school?” She asked.

Max frowned. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure. I feel like I saw posters for it at some point, though.”

“Maybe I have it confused with the debate team,” Susan wondered.

“What school did you go to in San Diego?” Steve suddenly asked, looking to ease the tension on his side of the table.

Maxine placed her fork on the napkin beside her plate. “Pacific Beach Middle School,” she answered, “It was okay.”

Steve blinked. “Your town was called ‘Pacific Beach?’ That sounds like a resort or something.”

“It’s not a town, sweetheart. It’s just part of San Diego,” Susan clarified, “Sort of like how Manhattan has different areas.”

“Was it _on_ the beach?” He pressed.

Max smiled. “Why do you think it’s called _Pacific Beach_? It’s by the bay.”

“We didn’t live _on_ the beach, though. We lived further north, about ten minutes away.” Susan chuckled, “Neil used to, though. You could see the beach from the little house he had several years ago. Billy loved it. I saw him playing on the beach almost every day. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Mr. Hargrove slowly looked up from his plate. “Yeah. It was overrated. The place flooded a lot, and half of the time it stank because of the low tide. Always had problems with mold, too.”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, honey. I thought it was a lovely little home.” She teased.

He huffed. “Sandra picked it.”

“Who’s Sandra?” Steve asked, and was swiftly kicked under the table by Max. He looked over at her, and she was shaking her head.

“My ex-wife,” Mr. Hargrove replied icily.

Steve cringed. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“It is what it is.” The man interrupted. “Anyway, that area had a bad element. The place was full of dirty hippies. Bet _they_ got him into drugs.”

Susan dabbed her lips with a napkin. “There’s definitely less of that here in Indiana,” She conceded, “It’s such a nice, quiet little place.”

“I used to think it was boring,” Max commented with a smirk, “But there’s a lot more to it than what meets the eye.”

Steve side-eyed her.

“I bet you’re eager to see new places, Steve,” Susan mused, “I was so eager to get out of my hometown when I was your age.”

He gave a small smile. “Well, you know. I’ve got some stuff to figure out.”

“You got plans after graduation, Steve?” Mr. Hargrove asked.

Steve clenched his teeth. “Yeah… yeah, I uh, was thinking of going to college and um, maybe working for my dad’s company.”

Susan wiped her fork off with her napkin and set it on her plate. “Ooh, where were you thinking of going?”

“Indiana,” Steve stammered, “I-Indiana State. Maybe.”

She smiled. “You seem like a smart boy. I bet you’ll do well there.”

 _If only you knew my GPA_ , Steve thought.

“My son could learn a lot from you,” Mr. Hargrove remarked.

Steve was taken aback. “He could?”

“Yeah,” He affirmed, wiping his mouth with his napkin and crumpling it up in huge hands. “You have your head on straight. It’s been a long time since that kid has shown some respect around here. Do you think _he_ has any plans for college? For when he graduates? All he ever does is drink, fool around, and listen to that awful goddamn noise.”

Steve was no psychologist, but for just a moment, Mr. Hargrove’s cold demeanor betrayed a hint of something else: distress. Was Mr. Hargrove, who had a reputation for his ruthlessness, _worried_ about his son? It baffled Steve, because it was plain to him that a lot of this was Neil’s fault. Several times at parties or in gym, Billy made offhanded comments about doing things specifically to anger his father. Maybe if Mr. Hargrove actually listened to his son instead of antagonizing him, he wouldn’t be such a fuck-up. Steve’s mind went back again to the picture of Billy as a baby, staring up at the camera without a hint of fear or malice in his blue eyes.

He balked at the idea that he could be a good influence on Billy for a variety of reasons. The things he’d learned that week made him more sympathetic to Billy, certainly, but Steve wasn’t sure _anybody_ could help Billy at this point. Certainly not Steve, who less than a year ago was getting up to the same sort of trouble Billy was. Mr. Hargrove was making a lot of assumptions about the sort of guy Steve was. Maybe he looked at the expensive polos Steve’s mom bought for him and assumed that he was a well-mannered, upstanding young man. He was wrong, though. Steve drank, he smoked, and crucially, he was directionless. He didn’t know what he wanted and he never got good grades in school. He only started to clean up his act because of Nancy, but without her, he had no idea what to do. These kids were the only things that gave his life meaning anymore. _Jesus_ , Steve thought suddenly, _That’s heavy_.

“Steve?” Susan said, jolting him out of his ruminating.

“Sorry, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

Mr. Hargrove crossed his arms. “See, Steve, you _think_. Unlike some people, you give a shit about others."

"That’s because,” Steve began a little too hastily, “That’s because I had this really good girlfriend last year. She, uh, she taught me those things.”

Max gave Steve a fleeting look.

Mr. Hargrove picked up his plate and stood. When he walked by Max, he patted her on the shoulder. “At least this one is turning out alright,” he said dryly, “She’s sharp, like her mother.”

Susan grinned weakly.

  
  


Steve stared out at the slick road that stretched out before him. The white line cut through the blackness of the wet asphalt. The rain was light now, with just a few droplets sporadically hitting the windshield. The sound of rain against the window and the whirring engine enveloped him like a blanket.

He didn't get out of the car when he pulled into the driveway. He just took the key out of the ignition and pressed his forehead against the cold rubber of the steering wheel. He closed his eyes and listened to the gentle rain. _I don't know what I want anymore_ , he thought feebly.

Suddenly, there was a tap on his window. Steve looked up to see his dad. He opened the door and slinked out.

"You were out a little bit later than usual," His dad observed.

Steve sighed, leaning against the side of the BMW. "They wanted me to stay for dinner," he replied.

"You holding up okay, Steve?" His father asked in a rare moment of concern.

Steve pushed off of the car and shuffled over to the front door. "Yeah, I'm fine. I've just been thinking about uh. College and stuff. What to do after I graduate."

The man fell into step beside him. "First things first," He said, "Just focus on getting your grades up."

Steve slipped off his shoes in the entryway and took a seat on the stairs. "Am I turning out okay?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

His dad eased down onto the step beside him, cringing as his knee made a subtle popping sound. "Listen," He began, resting a hand on Steve's shoulder, "You've made some mistakes, probably more mistakes than most kids would, but you can turn that around whenever you want to. You're a man now. How you 'turn out' is up to you."

He stood with a grunt and climbed up the stairs. "Just make the right choices. I know you can," He said without looking back at Steve.

Steve suddenly felt a pang of guilt for bad-mouthing his dad as much as he had. He was often stoic and brusque, but maybe he wasn't as much of an asshole as Steve often thought. He certainly wasn't as bad as Billy's dad, at least. The resentment he felt towards his father had more to do with his frequent absence than it did with anything else. Sometimes it felt like his dad was more of an older roommate than a father, simply because he wasn’t often _present_ . Not only did he work long hours and travel frequently, but he was frequently distant _emotionally_ as well. Steve wasn’t really sure why, whether it was because his dad was too busy with his own affairs, or because the man just wasn’t very good at dealing with conflict.

His mom was alright-- a little strict and old-fashioned, but otherwise a decent parent. Recently, she had taken to accompanying his dad on all of his business trips. A few years prior, his parents nearly divorced over an affair his father was having with one of his co-workers, and he was still earning his mother’s trust back. Those circumstances meant that his mom also didn’t have the time or energy to be fully invested in her son. Though many of the same problems plagued his relationship with his mother, Steve felt considerably less malice toward her. He was particularly sympathetic to her predicament after being cheated on himself. Steve felt thankful again that he wasn’t in Billy’s shoes. He didn’t know how he could ever cope if his mom suddenly disappeared from his life.

Finally, he turned and walked to his room. He wasn’t physically tired-- all he’d done that day was sit around and play video games-- but his mind could really use a break. Hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t be quite so emotionally laborious.

Friday was just as rainy as Thursday, but at least it was a little bit warmer. As he had the previous days, Steve showed up at Max's house at eight-thirty, exchanged some small talk with Susan, and settled on the couch for his daily nap. Steve was surprised by how quickly he got comfortable with the routine. He was even more surprised by how quickly he got comfortable with the Hargroves' leather couch and corduroy throw pillows.

Max didn't even need to wake him this time. When he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, she was nowhere to be seen, and his watch said twelve twenty-seven. He could hear her rustling around in the kitchen, probably fixing lunch for herself. She was humming a little song, which made Steve smile to himself. Much like Billy, Max tried to project toughness, but she really wasn't that different from Dustin-- a sweet, inquisitive kid unafraid of being different.

“So,” Steve said as he walked into the kitchen, “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Maxine briefly peeked over her shoulder. She was standing at the stove, grilling a sandwich in a small frying pan. “I was thinking of inviting Lucas over,” She replied, uncharacteristically demure.

Steve rushed over. “Hey, hey, wait. Are you allowed to use the stove?

She rolled her eyes. “I’m probably more qualified to use the stove than _you_ are. Besides, I’m only making grilled cheese.”

“Why does it matter what you’re making? It’s _fire._ ” He fretted.

“It’s an electric stove. There is no fire.” She retorted.

Steve reached over her and turned off the dial.

“Hey!” She protested.

“Your sandwich looks like it’s done,” He argued, “That’s enough of the stove.”

Max elbowed him in the chest. “Billy let me use the stove.”

“ _Billy_ isn’t exactly known for being safe and responsible,” Steve remarked.

She sighed and slid the sandwich onto a plate. She dropped the dirty pan into the sink with a clatter that made Steve cringe, then seated herself at the kitchen table. “This is so stupid. I’m almost fourteen.”

Steve sat down across from her. “Okay, I might have overreacted. Better safe than sorry, though.”

“It’s not just you,” She ranted, tearing a corner off of her sandwich, “Everyone treats me like I’m still a little kid. Do you think Mike’s sister still has to babysit _him_? Or that Lucas has a babysitter?”

Steve frowned. “Well, no, but neither of their mothers work. Ms. Henderson works, so she still needs someone to watch Dustin sometimes.”

“He doesn’t _need_ to be watched, Steve. He just likes hanging out with you,” Max pointed out, “Not that I don’t like hanging out with you, Steve. I do. I just don’t need a babysitter.”

Steve was flattered, but he persisted. “ _Ordinarily_ you wouldn’t, but--”

“Yeah, I know, the monsters. Is fighting monsters really a babysitter’s job, though?” She posited, taking another bit of her sandwich. “Wouldn’t that make you more of an _ally_?”

He rubbed his chin. “Huh. Y’know, I kind of like the sound of--”

The doorbell rang, cutting Steve off. Not that what he had to say was particularly important, though. He moved to get off, but Max gestured for her to sit down.

“I got it,” She said, shoving the rest of the sandwich into her mouth and hurrying to the door.

“Don’t choke!” Steve called. After a moment, he stumbled after her. “Wait, is that Lucas?”

Lucas and Max were whispering something to each other. They looked up when Steve came into the room.

“You didn’t say Steve was here,” Lucas said, turning back to Max.

She clicked her tongue. “It’s not important. He’s going to leave us alone, right, Steve?”

“Oh god,” Lucas lamented, “Tell me he’s not here to babysit you.”

She grabbed his arm, “At least it’s him and not Billy.”

“Literally anyone would be better than Billy,” Lucas replied, “No offense, Steve.”

Steve folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Listen, guys. I’ll stay off your backs, but you have to promise to stay out of the bedrooms. Sorry, but it’s her mom’s rule, not mine.”

Max blinked. “Mom _knew_ I was having Lucas over?”

“Yeah. She said it was fine as long as you guys were in the kitchen or the living room.” He clarified.

“So trashing Billy’s room is off the table?” Lucas joked.

“Lucas!” Max chided.

Steve laughed. “It was trashed to begin with.”

Much like the previous day, the rainy weather limited their activities. Lucas and Max probably intended to go somewhere for their little date, but instead they settled on watching horror movies inside. That left Steve in the kitchen, where he had no option but to finish his trigonometry homework. Most of his teachers had the decency not to assign anything over break, but Mr. Driscoll wasn’t so considerate. He gave them a week’s worth of problems in a packet so the students wouldn’t “get rusty” during vacation.

Steve called up Nancy on the Hargroves’ phone and had her walk him through some of the processes. She was happy to oblige, even though they weren’t dating anymore. When they were together, Nancy discovered that teaching Steve helped her memorize the material. It was a studying dynamic that both parties benefited from, although Steve often had a hard time motivating himself to start working.

They were both getting burned out after several equations, so the conversation shifted away from math.

“You know Steve, I think what you’re doing is really sweet. This is going to sound hokey, but I’m proud of you,” Nancy said.

Steve pursed his lips. “I mean, it’s trigonometry--” 

“Not _that_ ,” She replied, “The babysitting.”

He blushed. “Oh, yeah, babysitting. It’s not really _babysitting_ , though. It’s more like, preteen… watching. Wait, no, that sounds creepy.”

Nancy laughed, and Steve smiled. Even when it was muffled by the phone, her laugh was cute. “It’s okay, I understand what you mean. My point is that it’s nice of you.”

“I’m just trying to do the right thing. You ever just get a feeling in your gut about something, and think, ‘I gotta do this?’” He explained.

“Of course,” Nancy assured, “That’s how I felt about hunting down that… creature that took Barb. I knew that I had to make it right somehow, even if it didn’t completely make sense at the time.” 

Steve nodded. “The day Billy ran away, Susan was at Dustin’s house. When I saw her, I had that feeling in my gut. I knew I had to help.” He recalled, then glanced around and lowered his voice. “This family is in bad shape, Nance. I’m worried about Max.”

“Me, too. I always feel uneasy whenever that creep shows up to take her home,” She agreed.

“Here’s the thing, though-- he’s an asshole, but he’s not the problem.” Steve speculated, “It’s his dad.”

Nancy clicked her tongue. “Well, he’s gotta get it _somewhere_. Cruelty is a learned behavior.”

 _I don't think people are born assholes,_ Steve remembered from his conversation with Max earlier in the week. “Get this, though; Max told me Billy used to be _nice_ to her. She said he taught her how to skateboard.”

“Divorces are hard on people, Steve. Jonathan is still having a hard time with what his parents went through,” Nancy said gently, “It takes a long of strength to come out on the other side of it a good person.”

“Ms. Byers has always been a good person, though. What if he had to live with his asshole dad instead of her?” Steve suggested, “I think that’s what might have happened with Billy.”

Nancy considered this. “Steve, I don’t really think this our business. I think you should just focus on Max and not concern yourself with Billy.”

“But he’s the source of half her problems,” He countered, covering the mouthpiece when a scream from one of Max’s movies echoed through the house.

She sighed. “You can’t _fix_ people, Steve. If someone wants to be a better person, they have to choose that for themself. You know,” She paused, “Like _you_ did.”

“I don’t even know if I _chose_ it, though. I just sort of… realized that my friends were assholes.” He admitted, resting his elbow on the table.

She chuckled. “You had to be willing to acknowledge that they were assholes, and when you had to make a decision on whether or not you should stay with them, you made the right choice. You did that all on your own, Steve.”

Steve smiled to himself and rubbed his arm. “Yeah, I guess I did. But I don’t think I would have realized that if I never met you.”

“You’re not going to suggest that I talk to Billy, are you?” She asked wryly.

He cringed. “Jesus, no. God, no,” He rebuked, “I don’t know. I guess all we can do is hope that he meets someone who can be a good influence on him. Not literally you, but _like_ you, you know?”

“You’re more optimistic than I am, Steve. Who knows, though. Maybe he will. It’s not--”

Suddenly, Mike’s voice cut in. “Nancy, you’ve been hogging the phone for like two hours!” He whined.

“Get off the line, Mike!” She commanded.

Mike scoffed. “Please wrap it up. I was supposed to call El twenty minutes ago.” He pleaded, then slammed the phone in the cradle.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later,” Steve said lightly.

She sighed again, “See you Monday, Steve. Good luck with your homework.” She hung up before Steve could say anything else.

He hung the phone back up on the receiver. He heard some more screams from the movie playing in the living room, and craned his neck to look through the doorway. He could see two heads poking up over the back of the couch, one leaning against the other. It reminded him so much of the dates he had with Nancy, and his heart squeezed. 

  
  


The first day back at school was uneventful. Steve was certain at least half of the answers he got in his trigonometry packet were wrong, but at least he actually finished it, which is more than he could usually say for his homework. He fell asleep in English, likely because he'd become so accustomed to morning naps at the Hargrove house. He mostly tuned out the lectures in his afternoon classes and doodled in the margins of his notes. Several people greeted him in the hall, most of whom were underclassmen teammates.

These days, he usually ate lunch with Nancy and Jonathan. To most other people, hanging out with your ex and a guy who beat you up would probably seem strange, but it seemed only natural that the three of them had a hard time relating to kids who hadn't nearly died fighting Lovecraftian horrors. In fact, Steve came to like Jonathan relatively quickly-- much like Nancy, he was witty and driven. It was hard to resent the guy when his personality was so similar to that of the girl he loved.

Steve had pretty much forgotten about Billy… until school let out and he saw the guy leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette.

"Oh, Jesus," Steve said exasperatedly, "Listen man, I know you're still steamed about a few months ago, but Ms. Henderson--"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Harrington. I'm not here to kick your ass," Billy interrupted, his speech slightly muffled by the cigarette.

Steve blinked. "What do you want, then?"

"I'm trying to _thank_ you, dipshit," He replied, pulling the cigarette away from his lips, "You covered my ass, so my old man's not as pissed off."

Steve raised his eyebrows. He never got the impression "thank you" was in Billy's vocabulary. "Uh, no problem, man."

Billy took another pull from his cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and crushed it with his boot. "Yeah, whatever. I want to make one thing clear, though."

"What's that?" Steve asked.

Billy got up off the car and took a step closer to Steve. "You better not think this means I owe you any favors," He threatened.

Steve rolled his eyes. "I didn't do this for you, dude. Ms. Henderson asked me to do it."

"I don't care. All that matters is that you weren't doing it to perv on my sister," He retorted, tucking his lighter back into the pocket on his denim jacket.

"I prefer chicks my own age, thanks," Steve said flatly.

"Coulda fooled me," Billy quipped. He turned and began walking away, but stopped after a few steps. "So, yeah, thanks. See you at practice." He muttered without turning around.

  
  


That Friday, they had a game against West Vigo High School. They had a pretty solid team, and Hawkins lost to them the previous year. Tensions were high in the locker room that evening, even though it was a home game. Neither of Steve's parents could make it, but Dustin decided to come. Steve insisted that Dustin didn't have to be there, but he was adamant. Steve knew that Dustin didn't like sports, and that he was only going to the game because Steve's parents weren't.

It was a close, gruelling game. As obnoxious as Billy was, Steve had to admit that he was a boon to the team. Without him, the two teams wouldn't have been so evenly matched. Even though Billy was being his usual snarky self, Steve could tell that he was giving it his all. His curly hair was limp with sweat, and the front of his jersey was soaked. Everyone had their work cut out for them, including Steve, who was fading by the fourth quarter. He was certain the game would go into overtime, but the Tigers clinched it with only a few seconds left.

The crowd spilled off of the bleachers. Dustin bounded over to Steve with wide eyes.

"Okay, _that_ was intense to watch, and I barely even knew what was going on," Dustin raved, "I'd hug you, but you look _and_ smell like a wet dog, no offense."

Steve chuckled. "None taken."

"I gotta say, Harrington, you're full of surprises," Billy remarked behind Steve, causing him to flinch.

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" He asked.

Billy laughed his usual borderline-insane laugh. "We won, didn't we?"

"I guess we did. Nice job out there, man," Steve agreed.

Dustin didn't look impressed. "Uh, yeah, you did good."

Billy glanced at Dustin, as if noticing him for the first time. "Who's this kid?"

"Dude, you've met me before. I'm friends with Max," Dustin replied, visibly offended. He rolled his eyes. "I'm Dustin, remember?"

Billy shrugged. "Not ringin' any bells, sorry."

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but then he saw Mr. Hargrove walk towards them, appearing out of the crowd like an apparition. He'd never seen him at a game before.

Billy frowned when he noticed Steve staring and followed his line of sight. "What are you gawking at, pretty b--" He began, but the words died on his lips when he saw Mr. Hargrove.

"Bill," Neil called as he got within earshot. When he was closer, he nodded to Steve.

Dustin froze.

Billy gaped like a fish. All of the bravado left his body like air fizzling out of a balloon. "Dad, what… why…"

"I got off work early today." He answered flatly.

Billy's jaw clenched. "You said you didn't like basketball," he pointed out, though it sounded more like an accusation.

"Well," Mr. Hargrove explained, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder, "Your buddy here had a lot of good things to say about you. I wanted to see if he was telling the truth."

Steve felt his cheeks warm up. He was just vouching for Billy because he felt bad for the guy, not because he actually considered them friends.

"He's not my buddy," Billy grumbled. His face was red-- from embarrassment or anger, Steve couldn't tell. He gave Steve an incredulous look.

"Well, I'm impressed," Mr. Hargrove admitted.

"Thanks, I guess," Billy said brusquely, avoiding his father's eyes.

Neil clapped Billy on the back. "I knew you could apply yourself," He commended, though it really came across as backhanded.

Billy stepped out of his reach. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've got potential, Bill. Don't squander it," The man cautioned.

Billy narrowed his eyes, trying to read his father's expression. Finally, he sighed and said, "Yeah, well, thanks for coming. I'm gonna go hit the showers."

Steve had never seen Billy so resigned, so deflated. He stared after him as he stomped away.

Mr. Hargrove folded his arms. "Christ, you'd think that kid would show some damn gratitude," He complained, then turned to Steve, "I was watching you, too, kid. Your folks must be proud."

"They're not here this time," Steve corrected.

Dustin looked up. "I came instead," He added.

Mr. Hargrove's eyes flicked between them. "Is this your brother?"

"No, no. He's Ms. Henderson's kid, a family friend." Steve clarified.

The man cleared his throat. "Well, you better go get changed. You played some really good ball, Steve. Tell your father I said that."

Steve peered in the direction of the locker room, then glanced down at Dustin. "You mind waiting out by the car?"

"No problemo," Dustin replied, "I just hope you don't stink as much when you get back."

"No promises," Steve joked, then hurried over to the locker room.

Steve weaved through the commotion of the locker room to get to his locker, where he took a seat and peeled off his dirty clothes. Dustin was right-- they were totally rank. He balled his stuff up and shoved it into his locker, then made his way to the showers, which were relatively empty. Most guys rushed through showering and changing out after a winning game so they could go party, so it wasn't too much of a surprise. A few of the juniors were rinsing off and chattering at the showers near the entrance, but at the far end of the room, there was only one person.

Billy stood alone under the water, which was kind of unusual for him. Against his better judgement, Steve padded over and turned on the faucet next to him. Billy didn't react. He wasn't even washing himself; he was just standing there with his palms and forehead pressed against the tile. His eyes were closed, and droplets of water fell from his long eyelashes.

Steve grabbed a bar of soap and lathered himself up. He mindlessly spread the suds over his legs and arms, occasionally glancing over at Billy, who still hadn't moved. He didn't want to bring the stink of the game home with him, so he scrubbed the hell out of his armpits. As he rinsed the soap off, he glanced at his chest, where it seemed more hair was coming in every day. He went back and forth between liking it and being grossed out by it.

He grabbed his shampoo, but almost dropped it when Billy suddenly spoke.

"What did you say to my dad?" He asked, opening his eyes and focusing on Steve with an unnerving intensity.

Steve stilled. "I just told him you were a good teammate."

"Why?" Billy implored.

"I dunno, we were just eating dinner and it came up," He offered, squirting a little too much shampoo into his hand.

The other boy stared at him, looking skeptical. " _Why?_ " He repeated tersely. It wasn't a question this time.

Steve worked the shampoo into his hair. "Jesus Christ, is this how you always act when someone compliments you?"

Billy scowled and kicked Steve's conditioner across the room. It made a loud noise, immediately drawing the attention of the other kids in the room. They cowered behind the fixture they were using.

"What the hell!?" Steve yelped.

"I know what this is," Billy spat.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

" _Yes you do._ I don't need your _pity_ , Harrington." He growled, his gaze boring holes into Steve.

Steve held his hands out beside him. "Alright, you got me. He was bad-mouthing you, and I felt bad. What do you want from me?"

"I kicked your ass. I could kick your ass again! And you _feel bad_ for me!?" He mocked, his voice cracking.

The frightened juniors quickly finished showering and hurried out. A few rubber-neckers overheard the commotion, and peeled around the corner.

"What are you looking at!?" Billy barked at them, and they quickly shrank away.

Steve lowered his voice, "Listen man, it's not like I made anything up. I was telling the truth, okay? Just setting him straight."

"I don't want that. I don't want him here," Billy said through clenched teeth.

Steve curled his lip. "Why? I get that he's a dick, but he's your dad."

Billy breathed heavily through his nose, trying to collect himself. "Because he'll ruin this. He'll ruin this like he ruins everything," He explained softly, his voice wavering on the last word.

"I don't understand," Steve said.

Billy faced the wall again. "You don't need to."

"I want to," Steve blurted. The words just came out of his mouth without his brain's permission.

The other boy laughed ruefully. "Why?"

"I don't know," Steve confessed, "I don't know why I do anything anymore."

Billy's face went blank. He opened his mouth, then closed it. In that moment, _Billy_ , of all people, had nothing to say. Then, to Steve's surprise, he walked over to the dented bottle of conditioner on the floor, picked it up, and pressed it into Steve's hand.

Steve stared at the bottle, then back up to Billy's face. The guy wasn't one much for the word sorry, but his eyes were apologetic.

Then Billy grabbed a bar of soap and started washing himself under the spray of the water as if nothing had happened.

Steve blinked at him for a moment. He reoriented himself and quickly finished his shower, then went back to his locker. He didn't want to keep Dustin waiting any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed like half of this on my phone, so if you see any egregious typos, please let me know.
> 
> Also, people in the eighties called game cartridges "tapes" and levels "boards." I assume this was because the cartridges were small like cassette tapes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys struggle with feelings. Billy's not used to people showing concern for him.
> 
> Content warning in this chapter for drug use, homophobic language, and sexual content.

Steve wasn’t sure if it was the argument after the game or something that happened over spring break, but he noticed that Billy was acting differently. He talked a lot less smack during practice, for one. It actually threw Steve off; he'd forgotten what it was like to make a mistake without hearing a bunch of snide remarks. Billy also seemed to have lost interest in shoving freshmen around in the hallways-- now, he would only give them grief if they blocked the way to his locker. He was known for creating trouble in class by starting arguments or messing with the teacher, but lately, he'd been keeping to himself. While he still wasn’t an agreeable student, there were suddenly a lot fewer classroom hijinks going on. Steve definitely wasn’t opposed to the change in attitude, but he couldn’t help but be suspicious.

One day that week, Steve left English class to take a piss and found Billy having a smoke in the bathroom. He hesitated at the door, expecting to hear some sort of jeer, like  _ Hey, look what the cat dragged in _ , or  _ You gonna rat me out, pretty boy? _

Billy said nothing, though. His eyes flicked to Steve when the door opened, but he just went back to smoking his cigarette. He was facing the open window with one boot on the radiator below.

Steve shrugged, walked to one of the urinals, and unzipped his pants.

“Jesus, can’t you take a hint?” Billy finally said, “I’m trying to smoke here. I don’t want to listen to you piss, Harrington.” The words didn’t have their usual venom. He just sounded exasperated.

Steve rolled his eyes and went about his business. “Smoke somewhere else, dude.”

The other boy crushed his cigarette into the window sill and stowed his lighter in his pocket. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today, Harrington.”

Steve finished up and tucked himself back into his pants. He almost left without washing his hands. If no one else was there, he probably wouldn't have. He went to the sink and turned on the tap. 

As Billy moved to leave, Steve spoke. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

Billy froze, then turned. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been acting  _ weird _ , man,” Steve commented without looking up from the sink.

He chuckled and leaned against the counter, craning his neck to look at Steve. “You  _ lookin _ ’ for a fight now, Harrington?”

Steve dried his hands on his pants and faced him. “No, but neither are  _ you  _ . That’s the weird thing. You’ve been like… tolerable lately.”

Billy smirked. “You miss getting pushed around, huh?”

“God, no. Look,” He began, folding his arms, “You’re less of a douche now, so just... keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

“What are you, my life coach?” Billy retorted. He wasn’t angry so much as he was incredulous.

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek. Nancy was right; this really wasn’t his business. “Nevermind,” He replied. He tried to leave, but Billy barred the exit with his arm.

Billy narrowed his eyes, searching Steve’s face. “What’s this  _ really  _ about?”

“It’s just a compliment. Chill out,” He answered tensely.

The door clattered open, and a tiny freshman with a bad haircut and braces passed through. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, so bumped right into Billy’s outstretched arm. Billy rounded on him, and Steve thought the kid would wet himself.

“Don’t hurt me!” He squealed.

Billy scoffed and shoved past him, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Steve blinked at the door, then looked over to the kid. “Sorry,” He said.

“Oh my god, I thought he was gonna kick my ass  _ for sure  _ .” He marveled.

Steve laughed. “He’s  _ in a good mood today _ .” He intoned.

  
  
  


Last week’s streak of good luck apparently didn’t last, because they lost the next basketball game. North-Central’s team made an unexpected comeback from the crappy season they had last year. They had a couple of really good new guys, all of whom were tall and agile. Most of the team blamed the loss on the fact that Tommy got injured during the first quarter. By no means was Tommy a star player like Steve or Billy, but he was among the stronger seniors, and for this particular game, they couldn’t afford to have a man down. Steve didn’t understand how Tommy could have rolled his ankle on a perfectly flat basketball court, but the guy was biting back tears when the coach hauled him to the bleachers, so Steve didn’t think he was faking it. It was all downhill from there, too, because Tommy’s injury would probably put him on the bench for the rest of the season, and if they couldn’t win against North-Central without him, there was no way they’d make it to state.

Billy was pretty steamed about the whole thing. Accidents happen, but he seemed determined to pin it on Tommy, ripping into the guy for everything from his stance to the fact that he apparently drank the night before. It surprised Steve because while Billy was known to neg his teammates, he’d never seen him actually go off on a rant at somebody before. It got heated enough that the coach, who was normally passive when it came to Billy’s antics, decided to intervene.

Steve snuck off to the locker room before things got any worse. He didn’t want to be there if a fight broke out.

Apparently his fears were unfounded, though, because Billy stormed in only a few minutes later. He wrenched his locker door open and peeled his jersey off. “Fucking headass,” he muttered to himself. 

“Sorry about the game, dude,” Steve consoled from the opposite end of the bench.

Billy untied his sneakers and kicked them off. “How did you put up with that dipshit for so long?” He asked.

Steve tossed his putrid gym socks into his duffel. “You mean Tommy?”

“No, I mean  _ Mark Twain, _ ” He jeered, “Of course I mean Tommy.” He dropped his shorts and underwear together, then discarded them in a pile on the bench. The guy had no sense of modesty.

Steve averted his eyes. “I grew up with him. He’s lived on my block for as long as I can remember.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Billy said flatly.

He sighed. “I’m not friends with him anymore for a reason. He’s kind of a flake,” He explained, digging through his bag for his hair products. “But you didn’t need to chew him out like that. I don’t think he hurt himself on purpose.”

“He jinxed it, man. All week he kept saying shit about how we were gonna have a party ‘after we won.’ He got cocky.” Billy complained as he pulled a towel out of his locker and hooked it around his neck.

Steve chuckled. “You think we lost because of  _ bad juju? _ ” He joked as he got up and padded over to the showers.

“No, I’m saying that kind of shit is what happens when you get overly confident,” He clarified, following Steve to the other room.

The showers were crowded, but there wasn’t much of the usual post-game horseplay. It wasn’t just Billy-- losing put a damper on  _ everybody’s  _ mood. There also wasn’t a ton of talking going on, either. It seemed like everyone was eager to get cleaned up and put the game behind them.

Steve picked the nearest empty fixture and turned it on. The water pressure was terrible and it wasn’t very hot, which was pretty common when a lot of people were using the showers at the same time. He was too drained to care, though.

Billy took the faucet right next to him, as usual. Steve always thought that was weird-- nearly tantamount to taking the urinal right next to someone else. For the longest time, he was under the impression that Billy did it to intimidate Steve with his muscles, but it’s possible that Billy just didn’t have a good sense of boundaries.

Steve went through his whole routine this time. At home, he would shampoo and condition his hair first and wash the rest of himself last so the conditioner had time to soak in. He was also careful to only work the conditioner into the ends, a tip he learned from Nancy. He usually skipped conditioner in the showers at school, but sometimes he’d include it after a demanding game. The bottle still had the dent in it from last week.

When he finished, he turned the knob and wrapped a towel around his waist. When he went to gather his shampoo and conditioner, Billy grabbed his arm.

“Hey, uh,” Billy blurted out, “You wanna hang out after this?”

Steve blinked at Billy like he’d grown an extra arm. “ _ What? _ ”

The other boy glanced around and lowered his voice. “I bought a bunch of grass because of this party Tommy kept talking up, but I’m sure as shit not going now.”

“Okay…” Steve replied slowly, pulling his arm out of Billy’s grip.

“Long story short, I can’t smoke all this shit myself.” Billy continued, leaning away from Steve to towel off.

He laughed in disbelief. “You want to smoke pot with  _ me  _ ?”

“Keep your voice down,” Billy hissed.

Steve leaned against the wall. “Why me, man? You hate me.”

Billy’s face went completely blank. “The hell are you talking about? I don’t hate you.”

“Right, which is why you broke a plate over my head,” Steve recalled.

He chuckled. “I’ve done worse to people I like more,” He remarked, wrapping the towel around his hips. “I was really pissed off that night and just kinda lookin’ for a fight.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Steve said skeptically.

“You know what?” Billy turned on his heel and stalked out of the showers. “Fine, I’ll ask someone else.”

Steve hurried after him. Billy actually looked a little wounded-- the guy probably wasn’t used to rejection from his peers. Steve  _ did  _ feel kind of bad for him. Sure, he was popular and handsome, but if there’s one thing Steve’s learned over the last few years, it’s that those things don’t mean dick in the long run. Steve knows from experience that the people calling themselves Billy’s friends now would abandon him the moment someone better showed up. When he graduates, what will he have? Nothing, not even a family that supports him.

“Dude, wait. I was just yanking your chain,” Steve backpedaled. That was a lie; he genuinely thought Billy hated him and wondered why he would want to hang out. He was still suspicious that it was some sort of prank. However, free pot is free pot, and it really did seem like Billy could use a friend-- a  _ real  _ friend, so Steve could at least give it a try. What was the worst that could happen? “Let’s do it. I could use a smoke.”

“That’s more like it,” Billy said with a smirk. He yanked his jeans out of his locker and pulled them on, sans-underwear, of course. He had to wriggle to get them on, and they looked like they were squeezing him in all sorts of uncomfortable places.

Steve realized he was staring, so he returned to his own locker and quickly threw on his street clothes. He crammed his duffel into his locker and slammed the door shut, then turned to face Billy, who was leaning against the wall, ready to go.

“Your shirt’s on backwards,” He observed.

Steve curled his lip and rearranged his shirt. “Happy now?”

Billy gave one of his trademark toothy grins. “Elated. Let’s go.”

  
  
  


It was already dark out when they exited the building. The weather was pretty typical for Indiana in the early spring-- humid, a little overcast, and cool enough for a sweater but not a jacket. The leaves on the trees swayed gently in the wind. It would have been a good night for a party if Steve was still into that sort of thing.

Billy's Camaro was parked right next to the gym, so they didn't have to walk very far to get to it.

Steve had never seen the inside of Billy's car before, but it was a lot like his bedroom in that it reeked of cigarettes and cologne. The car was a little low to the ground for Steve's taste, and he nearly bumped his head on the roof when he was climbing into the passenger side. He couldn't deny that it was a nice ride, though. There wasn't a single nick or scratch on its metallic blue chassis, and the tires looked new. He figured the upholstery would at least be a little worse for the wear due to Billy's philandering, but it was in good shape, too. A pair of black fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror; after all, a muscle car wasn't complete without fuzzy dice and a mulleted driver.

"Like what you see, Harrington?" Billy boasted.

"It's pretty sweet, I'm not gonna lie," Steve agreed, "How'd you afford this thing, anyway?"

Billy turned the key, rolled down the window, and revved the engine. "I flipped burgers for almost two years. It used to belong to this old fart that owned a surf shop, and he cut me a good deal on it."

"Your sister said you like to surf," Steve commented.

Billy slammed on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot in a way that probably wasn't legal. "Hell yeah, I do. That's how I knew the guy who sold me this thing."

"I've never done it, this being Indiana and all," Steve confessed, rolling his window down.

Tresses of Billy's still-damp hair bounced around his face in the wind. "That's the thing I hate most about this place," He said wistfully, "No ocean."

"Hey, at least it's not Michigan," Steve quipped, "Or Nebraska,"

Billy grunted and reached over to turn the radio on. A wave of sound exploded out of the speakers. It felt like the drums and guitars were literally being thrown at them.

Steve cringed. "Jesus Christ, dude," He yelled over the music, "You're gonna need hearing aids by thirty."

"Worth it," Billy yelled back, smiling mischievously. He banged his head to whatever was playing. The song was familiar, but Steve couldn't place the artist or name.

He recalled seeing all the tapes in Billy's room. "What band is this?" He asked.

"It's Judas Priest," Billy replied. "I've seen 'em live twice."

Steve nodded as if he understood. He hadn't actually been to very many concerts. He accompanied Nancy to an Elton John show last summer, but he had no intention of sharing that with Billy. Jonathan occasionally ribbed him about his lack of music knowledge, and he even gave Steve one of his mixtapes as a “primer.”

He was just getting accustomed to Billy’s music (and the volume at which he played it) when Steve noticed that they had been heading south on Cornwallis for quite a while. “Where are we going?” He wondered aloud.

“The lake,” Billy answered vaguely, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

Before Steve could reply, Billy cut the wheel and the car fish-tailed onto a dirt road-- a dirt Steve knew, because he’d been down it a few weeks ago.

“ _ Lover’s Lake _ ?” Steve exclaimed, bracing himself against the door.

Billy’s knuckles went white. “It’s where there are no cops, Harrington,” He said stiffly.

“Yeah, everyone in school knows that,” Steve retorted. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve rounded second base here.”

Billy kept his eyes trained on the road. “Oh yeah?” 

Steve realized the subtext of what he just said. “Uh, it’s also a good place to drink and smoke,” He amended, “I’ve had a few bonfires and parties here, too.”

He didn’t mean to imply that Billy brought him to the lake to snog, because that would also mean that Steve thought Billy was gay, a dangerous assumption to make. He still hadn’t figured out the whole magazine thing, and by no means was he going to jump to any hasty conclusions, especially if they involved someone who had a penchant for starting fights. If Steve acted on these assumptions and was wrong, it would be his ass, so he had to tread carefully.

“So, uh,” He meandered, trying to find something to say that  _ wouldn’t  _ imply he’d found gay porn in Billy’s room, “What’s all this shit about you and Nancy’s mom? You got a crush on her?"

Billy gave a smile; it was all teeth and a little bit carnivorous. “She’s a total fox, man.”

Steve tried not to let the relief show on his face.  _ Okay, good,  _ he thought,  _ He’s not gay, it was probably just a misunderstanding.  _ “Dude, gross,” He teased. “She’s old, and a mom, and  _ married  _ .”

“Let me give you some advice, Harrington,” Billy offered, turning down the radio.

_ This ought to be good  _ , Steve thought.

“Older women are where it’s at, man. You know what’s sexy?” He posed, leaning back in his seat with one hand on the wheel.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Nice… legs?” He ventured.

“Nah, man,” Billy said, shaking his head. “ _ Experience  _ . Older chicks know what they like, and they know what to do. Once you’ve been in the sack with a woman who knows her stuff, you’ll never want to sleep with another high school girl again.”

He grimaced. “That makes sense, I suppose, but couldn’t you just find some slutty girl our own age?”

“It’s not the same,” Billy argued.

“Gross, man,” Steve maintained. He knew what this was _ really  _ about; Billy chased after older women because he wanted someone to fill the hole left behind by his mom. Of course, he wasn’t going to say that out loud, because it would be a great way to lose some teeth.

The other boy smirked. “Don’t knock it till you try it,” He quipped as he pulled over at a spot where the road came close to the bank. He set the car in park and turned off the engine, then tossed the keys to Steve.

He stared blankly at them. “Why’d you give these to  _ me  _ ?”

“To unlock the glove compartment, Einstein,” Billy answered as he opened his door and stepped out. The headlights and the radio were still on.

Steve opened the glove compartment, and the smell of cannabis wafted into his face. Sure enough, there was a sandwich bag with some joints inside. He grabbed the bag and scrambled outside.

The glint of the headlights on the water was framing Billy’s silhouette like a halo. He was leaning against the hood, fidgeting with his lighter. Steve settled next to him and handed him the bag. The plastic crinkled softly as Billy unearthed one of the joints and placed it between his lips. His face glowed yellow for the briefest moment as he lit the end of the blunt. Then he stowed his lighter in his pocket, withdrew the joint from his mouth, and held it out to Steve.

As he took it from Billy’s hand, Steve looked up to see the smoke filtering out of Billy’s lips. Steve stuck the blunt in his mouth and inhaled deeply, which he probably shouldn’t have done. It had been a while since he’d last done this, and his chest started to burn. As he pulled the joint away, he tried to stifle his coughs, but Billy noticed anyway.

“Don’t hurt yourself, pretty boy.” He jeered.

Steve’s eyes screwed shut. “Oh, can it.”

Billy plucked the joint from Steve’s hand. “My turn,” He announced.

"Man, I can't believe I spent spring break babysitting," Steve mused.

"How your star has fallen, King Steve," Billy said sarcastically as he passed the blunt back to Steve. His hands were really warm for some reason.

Steve rolled his eyes and took a drag off the joint. "You know what? I'm glad I did it. It's like I had my own sister for a little while."

"Trust me, you don't want a sister. It's basically just an annoying kid who lives with you and takes your shit," Billy complained, reaching over to take the blunt back.

"Yeah, but they're also there when you need them." He argued.

Billy clicked his tongue and took a hit. "Man, Nancy made you soft. She totally pussy-whipped you."

"It's not bad to be soft. Chicks dig it," Steve countered.

"I dunno, man," Billy said with a sly look, "When I'm with a girl, she's always like, 'Oh Billy, harder!'"

Steve snorted. "I guess sometimes you gotta be soft, and sometimes you gotta be hard."

The two of them eventually settled into a rhythm, alternating between smoking and talking. They went through a couple of joints that way. It probably would have made more sense for them to each have their own, but it was more fun to pass it back and forth, and it wasn't like they needed to be anywhere. Steve had no idea of how much time had passed, but he knew it had been a while when his foot fell asleep. They ended up just lying on the hood of the car with their heads against the windshield, relaxing and telling stories. The dynamic was similar to what he and Tommy used to have before they became obsessed with chicks and popularity.

"...I was sick as a dog, man. I'm pretty sure it was the most I ever drank in one night," Steve recounted, "All so I could outdo that douchebag from West Vigo. Just goes to show you: don't try to outdrink a senior linebacker." At some point, the topic of conversation shifted to their first house parties.

Steve looked over at Billy, expecting him to laugh. Instead, he was just listening intently with a relaxed smile on his face. It isn't a smirk, or a toothy grin-- just a content little smile, a real one.

"What?" Steve said playfully.

Billy leaned in closer, close enough that Steve could feel Billy's breath ghosting against his cheek. "I want you," He whispered.

Steve felt a wave of heat wash over his body. "Oh. Okay," He replied, his brain short-circuiting.

The next few moments were a blur. Suddenly Billy was pressing his lips against his in a forceful kiss. Steve was overwhelmed by the warmth of his mouth and the softness of his lips. His body responded on its own, thoughts be damned. His mouth moved automatically, opening when Billy's tongue lightly traced along his lips.

It really wasn't that different from kissing a girl, aside from some superficial things like the prickle of Billy's peach fuzz. Billy was certainly more forceful than most of the girls Steve had been with, but the overall experience was ostensibly the same. Billy had really pillowy, kissable lips, something Steve often heard girls gushing about in the hall. They weren't lying, but there was a world of difference between looking at them and actually kissing them.

Steve surprised himself by just how into it he was. Warmth gathered in his belly, and his fingers were tingling. Something within him wanted to be closer to Billy, to touch his skin and feel his heartbeat. His hands moved without his permission, untucking Billy's shirt and snaking inside.

The other boy made a soft sound at that, breaking the kiss for a second to shift his body. Steve was confused until Billy's thigh moved between his, sending a shockwave to his groin. Then he captured Steve's lips again, clumsily undoing the buttons on his shirt as they explored each other's mouths. Billy's hands were so warm, and Steve couldn't help the embarrassing sound that escaped him when he felt a finger brush over his nipple.

"Hey!" An unfamiliar voice called. "Hey, who's out there?"

The two of them immediately wrenched apart, a ribbon of saliva still connecting their swollen lips.

"Cops," Billy breathed before rolling off of the hood and throwing the driver's side door open. He jammed the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.

Steve blinked dumbly for a few seconds before stumbling over the front fender and climbing in. He closed the door right as Billy stomped on the gas.

"You kids get back here!" The officer hollered, his voice fading into the distance as their car sped away.

Steve's heart was racing. "Holy shit," He breathed.

"Right when shit was getting good, too," Billy grumbled.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them. It gave Steve some time to calm down and gather his thoughts, at least. Billy's eyes darted to Steve a few times, but he didn't say anything.

"Hey, uh," Steve ventured after his breathing finally began to steady, "Are you, y'know... gay?" 

Billy didn't respond right away. "Are  _ you  _ ?" He eventually asked.

"No, no. Or, I mean, mostly no. I enjoyed… y'know, what we were doing, though," Steve answered indecisively, "I like girls, but… that was-- that was pretty nice."

Billy eased off the gas. "Same here."

Steve watched the trees flick by. "Um, if you don't mind me asking..." He started.

Billy looked at him expectantly. "Yeah?"

"Was this, you know…  _ intended  _ to be a date?" Steve asked unsteadily.

He laughed. "What do  _ you  _ think?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. That's why I asked."

"I brought you to Lover's Lake all alone and let you smoke half my pot, then we sucked face for God knows how long," Billy said sardonically, "Sounds like a date to me, pretty boy."

Steve's cheeks heated up. "Well yeah, but is that what you wanted it to be?"

"For fuck's sake, Harrington,  _ yes  _ . The grass was never for Tommy's fucking party. It was for  _ you. _ " Billy admitted.

"Oh. Well, thanks. I had a good time," Steve said, re-buttoning his shirt.

Billy put his hand on Steve's wrist. "Stop, leave it open," He chided, "It's hot. God, I wish I had chest hair like that."

His blush deepened. "Thanks."

"Anyway, don't act so surprised.  _ You  _ came up to me with all this mushy shit about how you want to understand me. How else was I supposed to interpret that?" Billy implored.

Steve considered this. "I don't know. This is going to sound dumb, but you remind me of how I was before I met Nancy," He explained.

Billy raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you were ogling me in the locker room, too?"

"I wasn't doing it on purpose," Steve objected, recalling the times he waited a little too long to look away when Billy was changing.

He chuckled. "It's alright, Harrington. I know you can't help yourself."

"Hey, you're the one who always has to stand next to me in the shower," Steve countered.

"You got me there," Billy conceded, licking his lips.

Steve drummed his fingers on the car door. "So lemme guess: my ass is grass if I tell anyone."

"Smart boy," He agreed, "I won't snitch on you, either. Scout's honor."

Steve side-eyed him. "I really doubt you were ever a boy scout."

Billy laughed. "You're lucky you're so damn cute."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not," Steve said.

"You're not very sharp, are you, pretty boy?" He teased.

Steve felt a pang of pleasant nostalgia. Nancy used to say the same thing.

When they pulled back into the school parking lot, Steve's BMW was the only car there. It looked foreboding in the darkness, a silhouette dotted with shards of light where the streetlights hit the chrome. Billy stopped the Camaro a few yards away, but he didn't kill the engine.

"So I guess this is it," Steve said softly. "So is this just a one-time thing, or…" He trailed off.

Billy shrugged and looked over at Steve. "Only if you want it to be."

Steve furrowed his brow. "Well, uh… I guess it would be cool to hang out again," He suggested, "Like another date."

"Finish what we started?" Billy added, smiling coyly.

Steve's body felt warm again. "How's tomorrow at eight?" He offered.

"The old man's making me babysit," He grumbled, "I'll tell you what: meet me after practice Monday and we'll figure something out."

Steve smiled and opened the door. "You're on, Hargrove."

"Sweet dreams, pretty boy."

  
  
  


Everything came into sharp focus the moment Steve settled into the driver's seat. It was like a magician had pulled the sheet away. He just willingly went on a date and made out with  _ Billy Hargrove _ . What the hell was he  _ thinking _ ? Billy was a  _ guy _ , and he wasn't even a decent person.

_ I'm not a queer _ , Steve thought urgently. He had a reputation in school for being a heartbreaker, a ladies' man. He'd slept with almost half of the cheer team before he met Nancy. He loved the feel of soft breasts under his hands, the taste of a girl's arousal on her thighs. What happened with Billy had to have been a fluke. It was just kissing after all, and maybe Steve just got lost in it because he hadn't had any action in a while. Billy was probably just close enough to a girl to trick his brain. He had soft curly hair, long eyelashes, and pretty pink lips.

Steve pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the steering wheel. He must have just smoked too much pot.  _ Billy  _ was the queer, not him. He was the one with the gay porn, and the date was his idea. It had to have been more of his mind games-- he must have found some way to turn Steve's innocent concern into romantic interest. His observations about Steve staring at him in the locker room were just projection. Billy was just being an exhibitionist on purpose to get his attention. Maybe it was all just an elaborate prank or a scheme to mess with his head, and he fell for it like a total sucker. Why the hell did he ask Billy on another date? A first encounter could be called an accident, but a  _ second _ ? By that point, his high had almost worn off, so he couldn’t really use that as an excuse. All he set out to do was give the guy some support and maybe get him to stop picking on his sister, but somewhere along the way, he got sidetracked.

Next time they were alone, Steve would set the record straight-- no pun intended. He was going to explain to Billy that he didn’t mean to fool around, and then they were going to have a serious conversation about how he treated Max and Lucas. They would agree to put the whole thing behind them and never speak of it again. Maybe afterward they’d still be… well, not friends, but awkward acquaintances. Even if it’s not what he originally wanted, Steve could live with that.

  
  
  


“I heard about last night’s game. Sorry about that, man,” Jonathan consoled.

“Mr. Edwards told me you guys played really hard,” Nancy put in.

Steve shrugged. “Thanks, guys, but I’m over it.”

The three of them were seated at the Wheeler’s kitchen table, studying for Monday’s history test. It was Jonathan’s strongest subject, Nancy’s weakest, and one of several classes that Steve was barely passing. They had their textbooks and notes spread out over the table, but they only spent about half of their time studying. Most of what they actually did was eat junk food and chat.

Nancy took a sip of her Coke. “Already? You normally mope for at least a few days.”

“I just have a lot of other things to think about,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair.

“You still worried you won’t graduate?” Jonathan asked, “All you gotta do is pass, man. That’s why we’re here.”

He sighed. “It’s not just that.”

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Nancy asked, touching his arm.

He chewed his lip. “I don’t know if it’s something you guys could help with.”

Jonathan frowned. “What happened?”

“I hooked up with someone and I guess I… don’t know how to feel about it,” Steve confessed.

“Thanks for assuming I wouldn’t know anything about that, Harrington,” Jonathan retorted, folding his arms.

Steve held his hands up. “I didn’t mean it like that, man, it’s just--”

“It’s alright, Steve. We get it,” Nancy said, chuckling, “Anyway, why are you upset about it? Did she hurt you?”

_ She _ . “No. I mean, yes, but not recently. It’s complicated.” Steve stammered.

“Is that the problem?” Jonathan pressed, his brow furrowing.

“Sort of? Okay, so it’s like this: I noticed that she had personal problems, and I felt bad, so I tried to be her friend,” He explained.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “That’s really all you wanted?”

“I know, I know, it seems like a stretch. I seriously wasn’t even thinking about dating her, but then she asked to hang out, and it sort of… turned into a date.” Steve clarified, focusing really intently on not saying  _ he  _ . There were certain things even Nancy shouldn’t know, much less Jonathan.

Nancy pursed her lips. “She didn’t… force you to do anything you didn’t want to, did she?”

“That’s the thing I can’t figure out. I was into it at the time, but I was high,” Steve said, avoiding Nancy’s eyes.

Jonathan stifled a laugh. “There’s your first problem,” He joked.

Nancy elbowed him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Steve muttered.

“So you’re saying she took advantage of you?” Nancy said, her voice tinged with concern.

Steve shook his head, “That’s just it, though. H-- uh,  _ she  _ was high, too. Then later, when I was sobering up, I asked her on a second date.”

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t see what the problem is. So you slept with this girl, and you’re upset because you asked her on a date afterward?” Jonathan surmised, resting his folded arms on the table.

His cheeks reddened. “No, no, Jesus, no! We didn’t have sex, oh my God.” He stammered, trying not to picture what last night would have been like if they’d actually  _ had sex. _

“That makes even  _ less  _ sense!” Jonathan exclaimed.

Nancy put her hand on Jonathan’s back. “Steve, what’s the matter with liking her? You might not be attracted to her yet, but it seems like you care.”

Steve panicked internally.  _ How the hell am I going to explain this? I can’t just tell them I made out with another dude.  _ “Uh, um… well, she uh. She’s… ugly?” He tried, immediately cringing.

Nancy scowled. “Steve--”

“I mean uh, ugly on the  _ inside  _ ! Not a good person!” He corrected, which was true enough.

Jonathan’s eyes widened. “Oh god, Steve, please tell me this isn’t Carol.”

Steve laughed ruefully. “ _ If only,  _ ” He mused.

“You’re making this really confusing. So you were worried about her, and you wanted to be her friend, but you also think she’s a bad person?” Nancy said, attempting to process everything Steve was saying. She narrowed her eyes. “Steve is this… someone I know?”

He gripped the table. “No, no, she... goes to a different school. She’s, um, on North-Central’s… cheer team.” He lied gracelessly.

Jonathan leaned over and whispered in her ear, but Steve heard anyway. “It’s definitely someone you know,” Jonathan advised.

Steve stood, knocking his chair back. “No, it isn’t!”

“Cool it, man. It was a joke,” Jonathan soothed, “Listen, even if we knew her, we wouldn’t bother you about it. You don’t have to tell us everything, but you don’t need to lie, either.”

He sat back down. “Sorry,” He said brusquely.

Nancy didn’t seem to be paying attention to their exchange. Her eyes were fixed on the paper in front of her. “Steve, whatever’s going on,” She assured, looking up, “I’m here for you.”

Steve sighed. “Thank you. I guess… long story short, I can’t decide if I like her or not, and if I like her, it means some bigger stuff I can’t really get into.”

“Maybe you’ll find out if you go on this second date,” Jonathan suggested.

Steve considered this. “That makes sense.” He finally replied, “Hey, uh, let’s get back to studying. I gotta take my mind off all this.”

Nancy blinked. “Alright,” She agreed, turning her textbook to a new page. “Okay, so the newly-formed National Assembly took the Tennis Court Oath on the 20th of June, 1789…”

  
  
  


The rays of the setting sun were painting the kitchen orange as Steve packed up his things. Mrs. Wheeler was digging around in the fridge, setting out ingredients for dinner.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner, Steve? I’m making shepherd's pie.” She asked as she peered into the spice cabinet.

He smiled politely. “That’s alright. My folks wanted to go out to eat tonight, actually.”

“Oh, have fun then,” She said without looking away from the cupboard. “Johnathan, could you get the rosemary for me? It’s on the top shelf to the left.”

Steve shoved his textbook into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. When he moved to leave, Nancy followed him to the door.

“Steve, what’s going on?” She whispered urgently.

His grip tightened around the strap on his backpack. “Nance, I just-- I can’t explain. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever this is, you can tell me,” She said softly, “I might not be your girlfriend anymore, but I’m still your friend. You kept my brother safe, and I’ll always be thankful for that.”

He looked into her gentle brown eyes. “I’ll tell you, okay? I’ll tell you, I promise, but I need some time.”

She nodded. “Alright. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Nance,” He replied. She was so wonderful. He couldn’t believe his rebound from her was the biggest prick in school.

  
  
  


Seeing Billy at school after the incident Friday night was surreal. Billy obviously wasn’t going to be affectionate in any of the typical ways like love notes or hand-holding, but whenever they passed each other in the hallways, Billy would meet Steve’s eyes and smirk. It wasn’t Billy’s typical douchebag smirk, it was his flirtatious smirk-- the one he usually reserved for Mrs. Wheeler. Steve was terrified that someone would pick up on it, subtle though it may have been. At least Billy wasn’t taking things in either opposite extreme; he wasn’t doing anything too revealing, nor was he returning to his pre-spring-break disposition. Steve was almost certain Billy would integrate it into his smack-talk at practice, but that didn’t happen, either.

As expected, Tommy would be benched for the rest of the season. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Tommy decided to ditch practice; all things considered, he was surprised the guy even showed up Monday. He was also waiting for Billy to bust his chops again, but it never happened. This time, if Billy said he was in a good mood, Steve would actually believe it.

“Look at you,” Billy teased during a practice skirmish, “Finally planting your feet.” He nodded to Steve’s stance.

“I only got reminded about a million times,” Steve remarked, passing the ball to the sophomore to Billy’s left.

The kid who got the ball dibbled it past Billy, throwing a layup for the shirts.

Steve put his hands on his hips. “Not on your A-game today, eh, Hargrove?”

“Just you wait and see, Harrington,” He replied, with another flirtatious smirk.

When practice was dismissed, Steve was immediately intercepted by the kid he gave an assist to. Steve couldn’t remember his name. “Oh man, I’ve never scored against that guy,” The boy marveled, “I think Hagan getting benched threw off his game.”

Steve chuckled. “I don’t know about that.”

“C’mon man, did you see how pissed off he was Friday night? I swear I saw smoke coming out of his ears,” He argued, elbowing Steve’s ribs as they sat down on the bench.

“If I was still pissed off, you’d be smeared across the court,” Billy chimed in from the opposite end, blowing a bubble with his gum.

The kid shrank away from Steve. “I-I was just kidding. That basket was probably just a fluke, Billy.”

“It wasn’t a fluke,” Billy said frankly, “I just  _ gave  _ it to ya’.”

He didn’t know how to react. “Um, thanks, I guess.”

Steve rolled his eyes and shucked off his sweat-soaked clothes. He made a mental note to wash his gym socks; the smell coming from his duffel was nothing short of unholy. He walked into the showers, dodging the group of juniors who decided to have a towel-whipping match.

He was steeling himself for a confrontation with Billy. This time, he was going to stay on track and follow through. He wasn't sure whether or not he should lead off with the rejection. On the one hand, establishing that right away would prevent Steve from getting distracted, but on the other, Billy probably isn't going to be interested in advice from someone who just shot him down. Above all else, Steve hoped Billy would handle rejection in some way that didn't involve violence or blackmail.

Steve closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of the warm water running over his skin. He could do this.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Billy spoke from just a few feet away. He never even heard Billy walk up.

"Wait until everyone's gone," He whispered, then padded away.

Steve swallowed dryly.

He took his sweet time showering, shampooing his hair twice and spending a considerable amount of time spacing out under the spray. When he finally walked out, there were only a few people left in the locker room. He toweled off his hair as thoroughly as he could, then opened his locker. His sweater and jeans spilled out into his arms. He yanked them on and waited, carefully watching the stragglers in the room.

Billy was smoking by the sinks. The coach had already left, so there wasn't anything to stop him from having a cigarette. The soft clicks of Billy playing with his lighter echoed around the room.

After quadruple-checking to make sure the coast was clear, Steve approached Billy.

Before saying anything, Billy gestured for Steve to wait, then locked the door. The sound gave him goosebumps.

He sauntered into Steve's space, backing him against the tiled wall. "Did you miss me, pretty boy?" He cooed.

Steve's hands were clammy. "I was just at practice with you, dude."

"You know what I mean," He said, hooking his fingers in Steve's belt loops.

A wave of heat washed over Steve's body. "So, um, where do you wanna go?"

"Here," Billy growled tugging on Steve's belt loops until their hips were flush.

Steve's breath hitched. "Wait, I think we should--"

Billy silenced him by crushing their mouths together. He didn't even start the kiss out chaste, he just jumped right in with teeth and tongue. Billy pulled on the belt loops so hard, Steve worried he would tear them off.

Steve's mind went totally blank. There was no way he could form cohesive thoughts with Billy's tongue in his mouth and their hips grinding together. Any doubts Steve had about Billy's sexuality disappeared when he felt a clothed erection press against his hipbone. The small part of his brain that still functioned noted that he was half-hard himself. It turned out that being high wasn't necessary-- he was already completely intoxicated by the smell of Billy's cologne and the taste of his tongue.

He gently pushed against Billy's chest, causing them to separate with a wet sound. "Need to… breathe…" He panted against Billy's cheek.

"Try not to forget to do that," Billy jeered airily.

When Billy was this close, Steve could really appreciate how beautiful he was. His sun-kissed skin was peppered with freckles, and his stormy grey eyes shone like pearls. His lips were so pink, if Steve didn't know any better, he would have thought the guy was wearing lipstick. His damp hair hung in clumpy waves instead of its usual bouncy ringlets. The Van Halen tee shirt he wore was snug on his admittedly impressive pecs and deltoids.

Billy attacked his lips again, kissing him with wanton abandon. Steve could feel spit running down his chin, briefly wondering if Billy was this messy when he kissed girls. He rested his hands on the small of Billy’s back instead of moving under his shirt, which he hoped would keep things from spiraling out of control.

“Mmmph,” Steve grunted against Billy’s mouth.

Billy’s lips left his and he craned his head to kiss along Steve’s jaw. He could feel Billy’s peach fuzz scratching against his cheek. Without meaning to, Steve tipped his head back against the tile.  _ This is alright,  _ he thought blearily. He might have been too hasty in thinking that, though, because without any warning, Billy’s hand was on his crotch.

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not-- I don’t--” Steve stammered, starting to squirm and thrash.

The other boy scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet  _ now  _ ,” He complained, challenging Steve with his eyes.

“I’m not pussying out,” Steve objected, “This is just going kind of fast, and I’ve.. never done this before.”

Billy blinked at him. “I know you’re not a virgin, Harrington.”

Steve huffed. “That’s not what I mean. I haven’t… you know…”

“Fooled around with a guy before,” Billy supplied, withdrawing his hand and putting it on his hip.

“Well, yeah. I’m not a queer,” He argued.

Billy smiled cruelly. “You should tell that to your dick,” He remarked, nodding to the tent in Steve’s pants.

“It’s just-- I’m just, um… trying something new. I don’t plan on doing this with any more guys.” He explained.

Billy reached up and pinched Steve’s cheek. “Awww, am I  _ special,  _ pretty boy?” He teased. 

Steve batted his hand away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He leaned back in and nuzzled the crook of Steve’s neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll make your first time  _ extra special  _ ,” He said patronizingly.

“We’re not going to do any… butt things.” Steve asserted.

Billy gave one of his big, crazy laughs. He was shaking and wheezing, clutching Steve’s shoulders.

“I’m serious!” He whined.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, man,” Billy said as his laughter started to die down, “That was never on the menu for today.”

Steve frowned. “Then what is?”

“You’ll find out as soon you’re done yakking,” Billy answered before pressing a wet kiss to Steve’s jaw.

Steve closed his eyes and tried to relax, kneading his fingers into Billy's muscular back. He indulged in the feeling of having his neck sucked on and kissed, something he always enjoyed. Billy's hand slid up his thigh, eventually settling on his erection again. He rubbed the length with the heel of his palm as he continued to ravage Steve's neck.

"Fuck," He breathed. 

The seam of his pants was digging painfully into his dick. To offer some relief, he reached down and undid the button, his fingers brushing against Billy's. Billy made a small pleased noise and unzipped Steve's jeans, eliciting a sigh from him.

Billy went back to kissing Steve's mouth, and Steve made a soft noise when he heard Billy unzip his own pants. His strong arms wound around Steve's neck as they kissed insistently. He opened his eyes and looked down when he felt something firm against his underwear-clad cock. Sure enough, Billy was grinding against him, and Steve's briefs were the only thing separating their erections.

He'd seen Billy's dick a few times-- they shared a locker room, after all. He'd never seen him hard, though. He was a bit of a grower, and his shaft was a little chubby. He was uncircumcised, which was unusual but not necessarily unpleasant.

"See something you like?" Billy asked breathily.

Steve hummed in response.

Billy took this as the cue to yank Steve's underwear down. "God," He marveled.

Steve flinched when his bare butt touched the cold tile behind him.

He stared at Steve with hooded eyes. "Can I touch you,  _ baby  _ ?" He asked softly.

Steve nodded. He didn't know how to respond to being called "baby," so he ignored it for the time being.

"Are you sure?" Billy teased.

" _ Please _ ," Steve planted.

Billy spat in his hand, which Steve curled his lip at. He didn't have much time to be disgusted, though, because before he knew it, Billy's wet hand was wrapped around both of their cocks.

Steve moaned loudly the first time Billy pumped his hand. His tight grip forced his hot, throbbing shaft against Steve's. At the end of each stroke, the head of Billy's dick rubbed deliciously against Steve's frenulum. At one point, Billy paused to run his thumb over Steve's slit, which made his toes tingle.

They kissed frantically, not even caring that their noses were bumping and that drool was getting everywhere. Steve's hands dove under Billy's waistband and cupped his bare ass, which made Billy gasp into his mouth. His ass wasn't as big as a girl's, but it was wonderfully soft and shapely.

Billy's movements were getting clumsy and erratic, a clear indicator that he was getting close. Steve squeezed his ass, eliciting a positively obscene sound from Billy. That must have been what sent him over the edge, because he felt something warm splatter on his cock and stomach. Steve climaxed not long after, overwhelmed by the feeling of Billy's dick twitching and leaking against his own.

Billy broke the kiss and, to Steve's shock, lifted his filthy hand to his mouth. Seeing Billy lick Steve's semen off of his fingers was simultaneously disgusting as hell and unbelievably sexy. It completely fried Steve's brain.

Steve didn't even know how to react. He just slumped bonelessly against the wall.

The warmth of Billy's body disappeared when he turned to the sink, presumably to rinse the spit and spunk off his hands.

"Now I know why they call you King Steve," Billy commented as he cleaned up and put his dick away. 

His eyelids felt heavy. "Huh?"

Billy zipped his jeans up and faced him. "That thing's amazing when it's hard." He said, gesturing to Steve's flaccid dick.

"Oh… heh, thanks. I grew it myself," Steve joked as he pulled his pants back up.

Billy snorted and took out a pair of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth and holding the other out to Steve. He took it gratefully-- he could really use a pick-me-up.

"C'mere," Billy said after lighting his own cigarette. He leaned over to light Steve's with his own, cupping the back of his head.

They leaned next to each other on the wall, enjoying a surprisingly comfortable silence. The cigarette didn't do much to restore Steve's energy. He tried to rest his head on Billy's shoulder, but Billy shied away.

"I'm not big on that kind of stuff, Harrington," He explained.

Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Cuddling, holding hands-- that sort of shit. It's for chicks," Billy clarified.

Steve shrugged. "I like that stuff," He admitted, "I used to hate it, but--"

"Lemme guess: Nancy Wheeler," Billy supplied.

Steve sighed. "Well, yeah. She changed my mind about a lot of things."

"Why'd you let her?" Billy asked, flicking his cigarette butt into the sink.

"I didn't  _ let  _ her, man. I was making my own decisions. She just helped me see things differently," Steve answered, putting his hands in his pockets.

Billy folded his arms. "Yeah, and she dumped you, so you went through all trouble for nothing."

"It wasn't _ for her.  _ I did it because it was what felt right," He argued, "Maybe I'm not King Steve anymore, but I'm okay with that. King Steve was an asshole."

"How do you know you're not still an asshole?" Billy wondered. The question wasn't directed specifically at Steve; it seemed more like Billy was just thinking out loud.

Steve looked at his feet. "I don't. I just try to treat other people better and hope it works." He paused, then added, "You can do it, too."

"Okay,  _ Dad  _ ." Billy retorted.

Steve elbowed him. "I'm serious, dude."

"Yeah, well, being everybody's friend is all fun and games 'til someone walks all over you," Billy cautioned, his expression unreadable.

Steve’s face fell. “Did that… happen to you?”

“Jesus, Harrington, do you do this to everyone who jerks you off? You don’t need my life story,” Billy snapped, taking another cigarette out of the carton.

He watched Billy light his cigarette, and noticed that his hands were shaking. “I’m not asking for your life story, but I know something’s eating you. You’re gonna lose your mind if you keep shit to yourself forever.”

Billy took a long drag off his cigarette. “You know damn well what’s eating me, Harrington. Half the damn town knows.”

“Your dad?” Steve answered quietly.

His jaw clenched. “It’s always my dad. If there’s something I’m pissed off about, you can bet your ass it has something to do with him,” He replied tersely, “So stop asking.”

Steve scratched the back of his head. “Does he treat you that way because… because you’re--”

“What, a queer?” Billy spat.

He bit his lip. “Yeah.”

"He doesn't know," Billy mumbled around his cigarette, "Even if I followed all the rules, he'd still be a prick."

Steve stared at him, his eyebrows drawn.

Billy scoffed. "Don't look at me like that."

"Sorry, it just sounds rough," He said.

"Yeah, it is, but you don't need to go crying about it," Billy replied indignantly, his cheeks coloring.

Steve folded his arms. "I'm just trying to have your back, man."

Billy didn't respond, he only closed his eyes. He sighed, a cloud of smoke filtering out of his mouth. His shoulder bumped against Steve's, but he didn't say anything. Somewhere, Steve could hear water dripping; for some time, it was the only sound filling the air.

"Remember what you said about there being no ocean here?" Steve said suddenly after what felt like an eternity.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Yeah."

"Well, it's not the ocean, but my parents have a pool." Steve continued.

Billy gave a small grin. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's heated, too," He added, "If you want to, we can hang out there sometime."

"You got booze?" Billy asked.

"Sure. We'd have to wait 'til my parents aren't around, though." He agreed.

Billy avoided his eyes. "Sounds like a good time."

"It's more of a date than whatever we're doing right now," Steve joked, but Billy didn't react.

After a pregnant pause, he cleared his throat. "You're alright, Harrington."

Steve planted a clumsy kiss on Billy's lips. "You're alright, too," He whispered.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to acknowledge Billy's crush on Mrs. Wheeler because I think it says a lot about his character and how he's been struggling to cope with losing his mom. Don't worry-- in this, it's just a crush and he never acts on it.
> 
> In the show, Billy doesn't have fuzzy dice in his car, but I added that because I thought it was funny.
> 
> Once again feel free to mention any typos, and I'll correct them. Also, does anyone know what the difference is between mature and explicit? I don't know which this fic qualifies as.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward Date III: Steve's House Edition.
> 
> Content warning in this chapter for drug use, underage drinking, and sexual content.

Steve struggled to stay focused in class the next day. His second date (if fooling around in the locker room could even be described as such) didn't go remotely as planned. He was looking to end their little experiment and advocate for his friends, not have a clumsy sexual encounter by the sinks. Since he parted ways with Billy that night, he alternated between berating himself for bungling his plan and fantasizing about their next date. Steve had no idea how he felt about Billy anymore. His obnoxiousness and arrogance belied a genuine sense of anguish and distrust. Steve was equal parts annoyed, concerned for, and surprisingly beguiled by the guy. He’d never found himself in such a position before.

He needed something to take his mind off of it all, so he decided to hit up Dustin after school. Luckily, Dustin wasn't busy; half of the Party had been grounded the previous weekend on account of a home-made horror movie gone horribly awry. 

"How were we supposed to know the fake blood wouldn't come out of the couch?" Dustin ranted over a game of ping-pong in the Hendersons' garage. "Plus, it was old anyway. There was already a huge stain from that time Will spilled hot chocolate on it."

Steve shrugged and served the ball. "Hey man, at least you didn't get grounded."

"What's the point if almost everyone else is, though? Not to mention my mom gave Mrs. Wheeler all my allowance to 'pay for the damage.'" Dustin replied, diving to the left to hit the ball.

"You had like twenty bucks, dude." Steve pointed out.

Dustin groaned. "It's the principle of the thing, dude! We were making _art_."

"Mrs. Wheeler probably would have let it slide if your movie was a romance instead." Steve joked, volleying the ball back to Dustin's side.

Dustin scoffed. "I see enough of that in real life just hanging out with the Party."

"Jealousy does not become you. You'll find a girl soon enough." Steve assured.

"Speaking of which, did you finally find a new girlfriend?" Dustin asked suddenly.

Steve hit the ball and it bounced off the net, rolling off of the table. "Uh, how did you--"

"The marks on your neck," Dustin answered, pointing to the yellowing bruises on Steve's jaw and throat. "I wasn't born yesterday, Steve."

Steve brushed his fingers over his neck, his cheeks warming. He completely forgot about the hickeys Billy left behind. "Oh… uh, yeah, I'm seeing someone new. She's not my girlfriend…um, yet."

Dustin crawled under the table to retrieve the ball. "Why not?"

"I've only been on two dates with her, and they weren't even real dates," Steve explained.

"How many dates do you have to have before a girl is your girlfriend?" Dustin asked as he popped back up with the ball in hand.

Steve scratched his head. "I guess it depends on the girl. This one, uh… she takes a while to open up."

"So she's shy?" Dustin inferred, serving the ball again.

"No, she just… has a hard time trusting people," Steve clarified, hitting the ball to Dustin.

He frowned. "What's her name? 

Steve didn't want to lie to Dustin, but he felt like he had no other option. "Um, Betty."

"Is she that one redheaded girl?" Dustin wondered.

"No, she uh, goes to a different school," Steve said shakily, trying to recall what he told Jonathan and Nancy. "North Central."

Dustin rolled his shoulder and hit the ball. "What's she like? Is she cool, like Nancy?"

Steve swiped at the air, completely missing the ball. "I mean… she's cool, but really different from Nancy. Almost the polar opposite."

"So… like a tomboy?" Dustin said, setting his paddle down on the table.

Steve glanced around in search of the ball. "Uh, you know what? Yeah. She's a _tomboy_. She likes cars and metal and… and surfing." 

Dustin blinked. "Where does she surf? This is Indiana."

"Uh, you know… her um, family has a vacation home in..." he bit his lip, "Pacific Beach."

"Whoa, that's where Max is from," Dustin noted.

"It's a different Pacific Beach," Steve hastily added.

Dustin adjusted his hat. "That makes sense. There are other Hawkinses, too."

"Yep," Steve said dumbly.

The younger boy stretched. "You wanna grab a soda?" he offered.

"Sure," Steve replied.

"Does Betty ever come to Hawkins?" Dustin asked as he led Steve through the door that connected the garage to the kitchen.

"Wh- oh." Steve answered, nearly forgetting the fake name, "Um, yeah. Sometimes."

He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Wait, that's right," Dustin said as he peered in, "You had a game against North-Central. Is that how you met her?"

Steve nodded. "She's on their cheer team." he lied.

Dustin rummaged around before unearthing a pair of Tabs. "Hey, don't jocks make a big deal out of school rivalries? If she goes to a rival school, does it cause problems?"

"Uh… sometimes it does," Steve replied vaguely, "She's not my girlfriend, we've just hung out a few times."

He handed Steve one of the sodas. "I feel like if I let a girl chew on my neck, I'd call her my girlfriend," he put in, "But you're the expert."

"Yeah well, she won't even let me hold her hand," Steve complained, "So I'm not sure she even wants to be my girlfriend."

Dustin cracked open his soda and took a sip. "Well, you said she's a tomboy, right? Maybe she feels like holding hands makes her seem less tough," he speculated, "Max is sometimes that way with Lucas."

When Steve opened his soda, it fizzed up and dribbled onto his hand. He frowned. "That's exactly what it is, dude. She thinks she's so tough, but I know there's more to her."

Dustin burped. "Maybe she'll come around, then."

"Maybe," Steve said.

  
  
  


The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Thanks to Nancy and Jonathan, Steve was able to pass his history test with a C plus, which was quite the accomplishment considering how many previous tests he barely made D minuses on. He continued to struggle with paying attention, but he tried to keep his nose to the grindstone anyway. Venting to Dustin on Tuesday seemed to help him organize his thoughts, though it compounded his growing guilt about lying to his friends. Thankfully none of them brought up his "girlfriend" again, but Steve knew he would have to deal with it eventually.

Practice was going smoothly, and it seemed as though the Tigers had recovered their morale. Without Tommy around, Billy and Steve's conversations were much more amicable, and they were able to cooperate more on the court. Of course, they were still wary of arousing suspicions, so they took care not to appear _too_ friendly. They also made it a point to keep their distance in the showers; the last thing Steve wanted was for one of his teammates to catch him and Billy ogling each other.

Friday's game went into overtime, and the Tigers lost by a narrow margin once again. Losing a senior player, even one that wasn't particularly good, proved to be a serious chink in the team's armor. The state championships were a lost cause at that point. Steve would consider it good luck if they won _any_ games between Tommy's injury and the end of the season. His teammates seemed to feel the same way, because they weren't devastated like they were the previous week-- only resigned.

Even Billy, the worst sport Steve ever had the misfortune of playing with, couldn't seem to bring himself to care all that much. While he was clearly disappointed, he wasn't taking it out on the other players like he did after the North-Central game. Steve hadn't seen Mr. Hargrove in the bleachers since that first game after spring break, and he wondered if it was affecting Billy. He was uncharacteristically quiet in the locker room that night, ignoring his teammates aside from the occasional pensive glance at Steve.

When he stepped out into the parking lot, Dustin greeted him with a fleeting look. "You wanna grab some ice cream?" he offered.

Steve smiled wanly. "Thanks, but I think I'm good."

Dustin looked unconvinced. "You sure?"

He nodded. "Sometimes losing is just part of the game, man."

As they walked to the Beemer, Steve saw a head of curly blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. Billy was lighting up as he stood in the open door of the Camaro. Their eyes briefly locked, but Steve couldn't read Billy's expression, and just as suddenly as he noticed him, Billy climbed into his car and closed the door. He heard Dustin's voice beside him, but didn't register what the boy said.

"Steve? Steve!" Dustin barked.

His shoe crazed a curve and he stumbled. As he steadied himself, he focused back on Dustin. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just tired. Long day."

Dustin studied Steve's face, and his expression softened. "Has that guy been messing with you again?"

"Billy? No, no. I just uh, saw him smoking and craved a cigarette." Steve explained hastily as they approached the Beemer.

"I can only imagine what being on a team with that butthead is like," Dustin remarked acidly.

Steve unlocked the driver's side door. "A teammate's a teammate," he replied lamely.

"Still an asshole," Dustin retorted.

Steve sighed as he put the key in the ignition. What had he gotten himself into?

There was a soft click as someone picked up the line. "Hello?"

"Hey Susan, it's Steve," he greeted, the plastic of the phone cool against his cheek.

"Steve! How are you?" She chirped. 

He chuckled. "I'm alright."

"What's going on, sweetheart?" Susan asked pleasantly.

"Oh, uh, I just need to talk to Billy," Steve explained, "Is he around?"

She clicked her tongue. "I think he's outside working on his car. Let me get him for you." There was a tinny _clack_ when she set the phone down.

A few moments later, he heard her voice again. "Here he is," She said before handing the phone to Billy.

"Harrington," Billy acknowledged.

"Hey man. Do you still want to hang out? My parents are going to some kind of couples' thing tonight," Steve said.

Billy sniffed. "How long are they gonna be gone?"

"They're leaving at six, and they said they'd be back around ten," he answered.

There were a few seconds of silence as Billy mulled it over. "Alright, I'll be there."

Steve felt a flutter in his stomach. "Sweet."

He moved to hang up, but then Billy spoke again. "Keep this to a minimum." he warned.

"What?" Steve asked.

"Calling here," Billy answered, "You know why."

Steve frowned. "Yeah," he breathed.

"See you tonight," Billy said. He hung up before Steve could say goodbye back.

  
  
  


The television was on, but Steve wasn't really watching it. His eyes darted between his watch and his parents, who were bustling about as they got ready to leave. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch, trying to contain his nervous energy. By his senior year, his parents had caught on to the sort of trouble he'd get into while they were away, so he didn't want to raise their suspicions.

His dad was wandering around in search of his car keys. He clearly wasn't enthralled at the idea of going to a marriage counselor, but Steve's mom was able to goad him into it with the promise of dinner beforehand. His hair, which was normally slicked to one side with mousse, was in slight disarray, and his tie was slightly askew.

"Steve, I'm leaving some cash on the table," His mom called, "If you get hungry, you can order pizza or Chinese."

"Okay," he bellowed back.

Dad poked his head into the room. "No monkey business, got it?" he asserted, pointing at Steve.

He sighed. "Jesus, it's only a couple hours."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem," he said tersely, disappearing back into the kitchen.

"Come on, we're going to be late," he heard his mother say through the wall. Her heels clicked loudly against the kitchen floor.

"Alright, alright," His dad muttered as they walked to the garage.

The low creak of the garage door opening echoed through the house. His mom said, "We'll be back soon, sweetheart," at the same time his dad yelled, "Stay out of the liquor cabinet!"

The door slammed, followed by the muffled sound of car doors closing and an engine starting. Steve didn't move until he heard the garage door close a few moments later, when the house was completely silent. He stumbled off the couch and bounded up the stairs to the bathroom. Steve checked his breath, brushed his teeth, and checked it again, then he spruced up his hair. He wasn't sure why he was bothering with his hair when it was going to get wet anyway. Actually, he wasn't sure why he was bothering with any of this. This was how he acted before his dates with _Nancy_. Billy was just a douchebag who jerked him off in the school locker room, yet here Steve was, fretting about his appearance like this was a serious date.

Billy didn't need to ring the doorbell when he arrived; Steve could hear already him revving his engine when he was a block away. He ran back downstairs and walked out to the patio, posting up against the railing in a way he hoped looked casual. His heavy breathing instantly gave him away, however.

"Damn, Harrington, eager much?" Billy teased as he walked up the driveway.

"Hey, keep it down! You want the whole damn neighborhood to hear?" Steve chided.

As Billy stepped into the light of the porch, Steve could see that he was wearing his usual smirk. His curly hair bounced as he walked up the steps. His barely-buttoned black shirt was tucked into a pair of tight, acid-wash jeans. The pendant that hung between his pecs shone like a star, glinting in the light. The heavy footfalls of his boots made the wooden stairs creak softly. When he came close, Steve was enveloped by the familiar smell of cologne, hairspray, and fresh cigarette smoke. His cologne was noticeably stronger than usual, though not overwhelming. 

Billy licked his lips. "It's rude to stare," he jeered.

Steve's cheeks warmed. "Like you care about being rude," he retorted, walking back into the house, "Come on in."

Billy followed, appraising his surroundings as he moved through the threshold. Steve continued into the kitchen, but Billy stopped to look at a picture on the wall.

Steve glanced back at him. "That's a picture of my dad from when he was in the Navy."

"Damn, he was a pretty boy just like you," he commented.

Steve grimaced. "Dude, please tell me you're not drooling over my goddamn dad."

Billy joined him in the kitchen. "I call it like I see it," he said simply.

Steve rolled his eyes and opened the liquor cabinet. Earlier in the day, he'd taken stock of everything inside. The bottles at the back were usually a safe bet-- if his parents got a bottle of something they didn't like at a holiday party or in a gift basket, it would eventually get pushed behind the things they actually drank. Steve knew that the bottle of Crown Royal was off-limits; his dad never ate steak without it, and it would certainly be missed. He also avoided the various bottles of red wine his mom accumulated because it was extra dry and Steve could never seem to keep it down. As he rummaged around, he found a dusty bottle of rum he knew his parents wouldn't notice missing.

"Don't worry, I like the new model better," Billy purred, grabbing Steve's ass.

He jumped, almost knocking a bunch of bottles out of the cupboard. He rounded on Billy, blushing furiously. "Jesus, man!"

Billy gave a cheeky smile, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. "What?"

"You wanna lick this stuff off the floor?" Steve scolded, holding up the bottle of rum. "And to think you called _me_ eager."

He ignored Steve's complaining and studied the bottle. "Rum, huh?"

"Yeah. I bought a case of Coke to go with it," Steve replied, nodding to the fridge. "My parents never drink this stuff. I doubt they'll miss it."

He handed Billy the bottle and went to the fridge.

"I'll take what I can get. It's a good thing you have mixers," Billy noted, leaning on the counter.

Steve unearthed the package of Coke from the fridge and started towards the back door. "Grab the bag of cups by the toaster," he said, "The pool's out back."

When they stepped outside, their faces were stained blue by the soft glow of the pool. The sound of the water lapping at the edges of the pool intermingled with a cacophony of crickets and the distant call of an owl. Fallen leaves slowly skated about on the surface of the water.

Steve dropped the case of soda on an end table. "Damn it, I forgot to skim the pool," he complained.

"You do that, and I'll mix the drinks," Billy asserted.

Steve picked the net up off the ground. "Can I trust you not to kill me?" he joked.

"I won't make 'em _that_ strong," Billy quipped as he popped open the bottle of rum.

For several minutes, they went about their business in comfortable silence. Steve scooped up the leaves and tossed them into the yard while Billy cracked open cans of soda and poured them into plastic cups. He probably wasn't going to get all of the debris out of the pool, but he at least wanted to take care of the dead hornets. The quiet gave Steve an opportunity to gather his thoughts.

"Hey, um… there's something I've been meaning to say," Steve began, staring into the swirling leaves instead of meeting Billy's eyes.

"Then say it," Billy replied.

Steve pursed his lips. "Alright, but try not to get mad, okay?"

Billy frowned. "Oh God, please tell me it's not gonorrhea," he groaned.

"What? No, Jesus Christ! I'm clean." Steve said incredulously.

"Then what's the problem?" Billy asked.

Steve sighed. "It's about Lucas."

"What did that little shit do this time?" Billy demanded.

"Nothing, dude. _That's my point_. I think… I think you should give him a chance," Steve clarified. He tried to occupy himself with cleaning the pool, but his sweaty hands were slipping on the handle of the net.

Billy stalked over, his arms folded. "A chance? To do what, fool around with my step sister?"

He gathered up the rest of the leaves and tossed the net aside. "They're not fooling around, my God," He argued, facing Billy.

"You don't know that," he countered.

"That's not the kind of kids they are," Steve replied, "They're geeks, man."

Billy's teeth clenched. "Watch what you say about her," he warned.

The irony of Billy getting offended on Maxine's behalf was not lost on Steve. Apparently "shithead" and "harpie" were fine as long as he was the one saying it, but "geek" was just too much. Steve didn't want to antagonize Billy, though-- not when he was trying to get through to him, at least.

"You know what I mean, though. They're not like other kids. When I was thirteen, I was stealing beers from my dad and buying porn with my allowance. But Lucas and his friends? They play board games. They go to the comic book store. They argue about movies," Steve explained.

Billy huffed. "That's just what they want you to think."

"No dude, it's how they _are_. That's why Max likes them," Steve asserted, "They're different."

Billy sighed and went back to mixing drinks. "I'm not happy he's seeing her, alright?"

"But you don't even know him. You're judging him solely on-- on…" Steve faltered.

He scoffed. "Save it. There's more to it than that."

"How?" Steve implored.

Billy looked frazzled. "I don't know. There just is."

"No there isn't," Steve said without thinking.

"You really want to do this shit _now_ , Harrington? 'Cause I can leave. I don't have to put up with this." he threatened.

Steve gave him a fleeting look. "I'm not trying to pick a fight. I'm just… I'm just trying to help."

"You're not helping, you're sticking your damn nose where it doesn't belong." Billy snapped.

Steve sighed. "Those kids have been through a lot. I just want them to be happy."

"Well, _I've_ been through a lot, too," Billy grumbled, "Why isn't anyone going to bat for me, huh?"

"I am! I stuck up for you when your dad bad-mouthed you, remember?" Steve argued.

Billy's face fell, and Steve could practically see the fight drain out of him. "That was different," he said lamely.

"It wasn't. I gave you the benefit of a doubt-- you could do the same for Lucas." he asserted, trying to keep his voice level.

Billy dropped into one of the deck chairs. "Fine, whatever," he grunted, downing his cup of rum and coke. "You want me to jerk _him_ off, too?"

Steve sat across from him. "I don't think Max would like that," he joked, attempting to ease the tension between them.

"Speak for yourself," Billy quipped.

Steve took a swig of his rum and Coke. "I'm sorry for killing the mood or whatever, but it's been on my mind of a while."

Billy added a little bit more rum to his cup. "Why'd you wait until now to bring it up?"

"Well, I was going to mention it sooner but I got... distracted," he admitted, "You might be an asshole, but you're also a lot of fun."

Billy side-eyed him. "Don't try to butter me up now."

"I'm not trying to," Steve said, "It's just the truth."

"Yeah you are. You're looking at me with those big stupid eyes," Billy accused, his eyes screwing shut as he sipped his drink.

Steve blinked. "This is just my face, dude."

"I know what you're about. You're looking at me thinking, 'I hope he still wants to fool around.'" he speculated.

"That sounds more like what _you're_ thinking," Steve retorted.

Billy gave him a wry look. "Don't let your head get too big, _King Steve_."

"Why do you keep calling me that? According to you, I'm not actually King Steve anymore." he pointed out.

Billy shook his head. "Christ, you're dumb as a stump."

Steve chuckled. "Takes one to know one."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're doing it on purpose," Billy mused.

"Now _that's_ dumb," Steve replied.

Billy rolled his eyes. "Come on, Harrington, I know your game. You act stupid and chicks like it because it makes them feel smart."

Steve snorted. "You're giving me way too much credit. I haven't exactly had great luck with girls lately anyway."

Billy's brow furrowed. "The hell are you talking about? Chicks are always trying to talk to you." 

"They come up to me, but then I blow it. I think I got a little rusty while I was with Nancy," Steve said.

Billy took a pull off his drink. "It's 'cause you try too hard. You need to relax."

"Hey, at least it worked on _you_ ," Steve observed, gesturing for Billy to pass the rum his way.

"I don't count," Billy shot back.

Steve blinked. "What? Why not?"

"Duh, I'm a guy." he said bluntly.

Steve shrugged and mixed another drink for himself. "I think you count anyway."

"Whatever. Bottom line, you need to improve your technique with chicks," Billy said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Okay then, since you're _such_ an expert, why don't you show me?" Steve challenged sarcastically.

Billy scooted his chair closer. "Alright, listen up, 'cause this'll get you laid every time."

"I'm all ears," He replied.

"Alright, the first part's the look. You've already got that down, in your own way," Billy began, giving Steve a once-over.

Steve chuffed. "Thanks, I think."

"Here's where you fuck up, though," he continued, "When you talk to a chick, you have to look at her like whatever crap she's saying is the most interesting thing ever."

"Is that what you were doing on our first date?" Steve asked wryly.

Billy smirked. "Maybe."

"Well, I guess it worked," Steve conceded, "But that isn't exactly ground-breaking, dude," Steve commented.

Billy huffed. "Take it or leave it. Here's something I've noticed; you talk too much. That's the part that comes off as trying too hard," he explained.

Steve elbowed him. "That's rich coming from _you_."

"Newsflash, Harrington: the way I talk at practice is not how I talk to women." he clarified.

"Don't you get kind of sick of that, though? Pretending to be someone else half the time?" Steve posed. 

Billy frowned. "It's not 'half the time,' it's just long enough to get laid."

Steve chewed on that for a moment. "Wait, have you ever actually gone steady with someone? Like, for more than a few weeks?"

"Hey, I said this is advice for when you want to fuck a girl, not marry her," Billy argued.

"I'll take that as a 'no.'" Steve deduced, taking a sip of his drink.

Billy scoffed. "There's no point in 'going steady.' Why buy the cow if you get the milk for free?"

"It feels good to love someone," Steve answered simply, " _'Don't knock it till you try it._ "

"I can't believe King Steve is so lovey-dovey," Billy marveled. He stood up and walked to the pool.

Steve rolled his eyes. "I can't believe _Billy Hargrove's_ never had an actual girlfriend," he jeered.

"Don't think I'm missing much," Billy retorted as he looked over the water.

He kicked off his boots and peeled away his socks. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it on one of the pool chairs. Steve's gaze was pulled to the muscles on his dimly-lit back. He was still admiring the rippling of it when Billy's jeans dropped to his feet, revealing his shapely ass and beautifully toned thighs. Steve never said that they'd be skinny dipping, but Billy obviously wasn't going to wear underwear, much less swim trunks. 

Billy peered over his shoulder. "Enjoying the show?" he teased.

"Hey, we're not in the locker room, so I can look as much as I want," Steve replied, scrambling to get his own clothes off.

Despite his best effort to be careful, his hair was ruined after he pulled the sweater over his head. He toed off his socks and went to the pool, where he tried to fix his bangs in the reflection of the water.

Billy padded over to him. "Leave it alone. It's gonna get wet anyway."

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his tongue when Billy reached his arms around his waist and unbuttoned his jeans. His breath hitched when Billy's cool fingers hooked under the waistband of his briefs and tugged them down. His pants and his underwear fell together, the belt buckle _clink_ ing softly as it hit the cement. Steve shivered when he felt the breeze on his thighs.

Before Steve could comprehend what was going on, Billy's large hands were pushing against his back, sending him careening into the water. The chlorine burned his nose as he thrashed around, trying to gain purchase on the edge. When he surfaced, Billy was laughing.

Steve spat out a mouthful of water. "What the hell!?"

"You're such a sucker!" Billy howled.

Steve skimmed his hand over the water, sending a splash towards Billy.

He raised his arm, shielding himself from the spray. "Alright, alright," he said, "Make some room."

"What?"

Billy pinched his nose and cannonballed in, causing a tidal wave to reverberate around the pool. Steve tried to get away, but he couldn't dodge the wave before it slapped against his chest and face. After several seconds of idling at the bottom, Billy pushed off and bobbed up over the surface, his wet bangs hanging in his eyes.

Steve cringed. "Augh! I got water up my nose," he spat.

"I said make some room," Billy reiterated.

"Dude, if you're gonna do a cannonball, you say, 'cannonball.'" Steve nagged, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry, _your highness_ ," Billy intoned, raking his hair out of his eyes. "Damn, you weren't kidding about the heating. This is nice."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw that his discarded jeans were hanging off of the edge, dipping slightly into the pool. 

He hastily pushed them away from the ledge. "Shit," he cursed, turning back to Billy, "If the chlorine damages those, it's your ass."

Billy floated lazily on his back with his eyes closed. "You can have my ass whenever you want it, baby," he quipped.

 _Baby_. Hearing it again made Steve's chest feel tight. He should have felt completely humiliated; Billy Hargrove was calling him "baby" like he was a chick. No matter how hard he tried, though, he just couldn't bring himself to feel upset about it. Maybe it was because Billy said it so casually. He didn't give "baby" the same mocking lilt he gave "King Steve." It was probably just what he called everybody he went on a date with, but Steve couldn't help feeling flattered anyway.

Feeling mischievous, Steve swam over to Billy and tickled his stomach.

He squirmed and splashed Steve. "Jesus! Fu-fucking stop, Harring-Harrington," he choked out.

"Payback time," Steve growled, pulling Billy into a bear hug and mercilessly digging his fingers into the other boy's stomach. 

Billy tried to steel himself, but laughter bubbled out of his mouth. "I'll k-kill you," he sputtered out. 

"Wow, you're really ticklish," Steve noted, trying to avoid taking an elbow to the face.

"Fuck you," Billy wheezed, finally managing to free himself from Steve's arms.

Steve smirked. "That's so cute," he gushed, which earned him a splash to the face.

"I'll show you cute," Billy threatened, lunging towards Steve.

He was able to dive just far enough away to avoid getting tackled, but when Billy missed him, he just went for Steve's foot instead. Billy's hand clamped around his ankle, dragging Steve under with a forceful yank. Before Billy could pull him too far down, Steve lightly kicked him in the chest and paddled back to the surface. When Billy came up for air, Steve used his cupped hands to squirt water in his face.

They spent what felt like ages roughhousing in the pool together. All of the lingering tension from their prior conversation dissipated as they dunked each other and sword fought with pool toys. Just being in the water seemed to lift Billy's spirits; as the evening wore on, there was a clear shift in his demeanor. 

At some point, Billy stepped out to have some more rum. Steve ogled him hungrily as Billy lifted himself out of the pool. Water streamed down from his hair, traveling over his back and between the curves of his muscles. He was trying to hide it, but Steve could tell that Billy was shivering as he padded to the table and chugged his drink down. After crushing the plastic cup and tossing it aside, Billy waded back into the water and took a seat on one of the steps in the shallow end.

Steve swam over to him, admiring the stretch of Billy's pecs as he rested his arms on the ledge behind him. He took a seat next to Billy, their elbows brushing as Steve leaned back. Billy's eyes were closed, and he was grinning serenely.

"Nothing beats the beach, but this is pretty damn close, Harrington," He conceded.

Steve closed his own eyes, breathing in the smell of chlorine and rum. "It's a better place for a date than the locker room, at least."

"Sometimes you gotta work with what you got, baby," Billy added, "'Sides, it's not about the _place_ , anyway."

Steve felt warm fingers ghost over his thigh and sugary breath tickling his cheek. He opened his eyes and swallowed dryly. Billy's face was only a few inches away.

"What's it about?" Steve asked breathily, fully knowing the answer.

Billy closed the distance between them. He didn't bother starting slow; Billy opened his mouth almost immediately, greedily forcing his tongue past Steve's lips. 

A pleased hum escaped from Steve. The bitter taste of rum and cigarettes clung to Billy's tongue, and notes of his cologne still persisted through the smell of chlorine. Steve snaked his arm around Billy's waist, urging him closer until their thighs were pressed together. 

Billy continued to absent-mindedly stroke Steve's thigh. His breath hitched when Billy's fingers brushed against his balls. Emboldened by his response, Billy wrapped his fingers around Steve's cock, which was almost fully hard by that point. Steve couldn't help himself; he'd been fighting off erections all evening while they were tussling in the water. Billy started pumping Steve at a slow pace, which Steve suspected was at least partially to tease. 

Steve felt a sudden urge to reciprocate. He briefly broke their kiss, moving his hand from the small of Billy's back to his lap. He nervously brought his hand to the base of Billy's flushed dick. It was the first time he had ever touched another boy like this. Steve figured it wouldn't be that different from touching himself, with the exception of the fact that Billy had a foreskin. It slid up and down as Steve began jerking him off. When he got into a comfortable rhythm, his mouth went back to Billy's.

Steve's brain nearly short-circuited as it tried to juggle everything that was happening. Billy had switched to stroking him at a more relentless pace, occasionally stopping to roll the tip against his palm. He kissed Steve in a way that could only be described as aggressive, forcing his tongue into every corner of Steve's mouth and nipping his bottom lip as he came up for air. At one point, Steve stroked down a little too forcefully, pulling Billy's foreskin behind the head of his cock. Billy gasped when Steve ran his thumb over the fully-exposed head.

Suddenly, Billy withdrew his hand.

Steve pulled away with a needy look.

"Stand up," Billy ordered.

He did as Billy asked. He was willing to do anything so long as it meant Billy would touch him again.

"Get in front of me," he added, remaining seated.

Steve obliged, suddenly realizing where this was going. He stood on the stair below the one Billy was sitting on. The water was lapping at his knees, and the chill of the air raised gooseflesh all over his arms.

Billy leaned in and grabbed Steve's thighs. He licked his lips, appraising his partner. "Mmm, it looks even better up close," he purred, his warm breath pulsing over Steve's cock.

He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he just placed them on Billy's shoulders. The sight of Billy below him with blown pupils and kiss-swollen lips was an image straight from a wet dream. His open mouth was only a few inches from Steve's dick, which bobbed with each ragged breath he took. He loved getting blown, and there was no way he could mask how eager he was for Billy's mouth.

When their eyes met, a devilish grin spread across Billy's face. "Damn Harrington, how long are you even gonna last?" he taunted, cupping Steve's balls.

"Just suck me off before I come all over your face," he demanded, shocking even himself. He wasn't normally this bossy.

Billy moaned. "That's the fire I like," he praised, wetting his lips again.

Steve was going to reply, but his mind went blank when Billy planted a kiss on the tip of his aching prick. A few beads of precome were already dribbling out of him. Billy traced his lips down the side, his tongue dragging along a protruding vein. He played with Steve's balls with one hand and touched himself with the other. Billy focused his attention on the head, pressing his tongue against the slit and circling it around the tip.

Just when Steve was starting to get _really_ frustrated by the teasing, Billy's hand left his balls and formed a vice-grip on the base. Without any more preamble, he swallowed Steve all the way down, which definitely would have made him climax if Billy's fingers weren't serving as a makeshift cock ring. He had no idea how Billy didn't choke; the few times he'd gotten oral from girls, they had avoided taking all of him. Then Billy slowly slid back, his beautiful lips glistening with saliva and precome. The tip popped out of his mouth, and a ribbon of spit formed as he drew away.

"You gonna make me do all the work here? C'mon Harrington, fuck my mouth," Billy asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

Steve blinked down at him. "Oh. Uh… I guess no one's asked for that before," he said blearily, "A-alright."

Billy took the cock in his mouth again, his eyes closing as if he was savoring the taste. Steve shakily brought his hands to Billy's head, his fingers weaving through the other boy's wet curls. He bucked his hips shallowly, which earned him a muffled moan from Billy. Emboldened, he started thrusting a little deeper. He could feel it when the tip of his dick hit Billy's soft palate, punching soft, strangled noises out of him. He established a steady rhythm, pistoning his cock in and out of Billy as roughly as he felt he could without hurting him. Each of his movements were rewarded with soft grunts and whines from Billy, who was stroking himself fervently.

A sound that was somewhere between a moan and a whine erupted from Billy. It was loud even though Billy was effectively gagged by Steve's dick. The vibration of it pushed Steve over the edge, and though he tried to pull out, he finished mostly in Billy's mouth. When Steve opened his eyes, Billy looked dazed. A glob of semen clinged to his lower lip, and there were tears running down his cheeks.

Steve's face fell. He crouched down, nearly bumping heads with Billy. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry, I went too far. It was--"

"Fucking amazing," Billy interrupted, breathing heavily and licking the come off his bottom lip.

Steve boggled at him. "What? Dude, you're literally crying."

He laughed hoarsely. "I haven't come that hard in ages, baby."

Without a second thought, Steve cupped Billy's head and kissed him. Normally he tried to avoid post-blowjob kisses, but this time, he didn't even care. The taste of his own spunk on Billy's lips didn't even bother him. When they parted, Billy was smiling at him. Steve stroked Billy's wet cheek and looked into his eyes; they were relaxed, perhaps even gentle.

Billy averted his gaze. Just as quickly as the moment began, it was over. He suddenly stood up and stretched, throwing a glance towards the table. "Well, the rum's finished. You got anything to eat around here?"

Steve rose too, though he nearly fell back into the water. His legs felt like jelly, and he was experiencing his usual post-coital drowsiness.

He cleared his throat. "My mom gave me some money for Chinese."

"Sounds good to me," Billy replied. He picked up his discarded shirt and unearthed a pack of cigarettes.

Steve shuffled over to the table. Some towels were draped over the back of one of the chairs. He picked one up and started to dry himself off, then paused when he saw Billy hunched over, lighting a cigarette. He scooped the second towel up, then padded to Billy and draped it over his shoulders.

Billy straightened and turned to him. "Want one?" he offered, holding the open carton out to Steve.

He took one and stuck it between his lips.

Steve was hoping Billy would do what he did in the locker room and light Steve's cigarette with his own, but he just used his lighter.

"Whaddya want from the Chinese place?" he asked without taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He wrapped the towel around his waist, though he didn't exactly have anything to hide from Billy at that point.

Billy took a long drag off of his cigarette before answering. "I'll just take whatever you're having."

"Beef chow mein okay?" Steve suggested.

He grunted in agreement and toweled off his curly hair.

Steve walked into the house and called up the Chinese place. He had the number memorized at that point; this was far from the first time his parents left him to fend for himself. As he was telling the woman on the other end his order, he glanced outside and saw something glint in the corner of his eye. After he hung up the phone, he padded back outside to investigate. 

The glimmer came from something in a puddle near the steps where he and Billy had been sitting. He took a few steps closer and examined the tiny object; it was a gold necklace, which he instantly recognized as the one Billy always wore. He picked it up by the chain, lifted it out of the water, and dried it on the corner of his towel. 

"Hey dude," he called dangling the necklace from his hand, "I think you dropped this."

Billy's eyes widened when he saw it. He ran his fingers over his chest, as if he couldn't believe it was gone.

As soon as Steve drew near, Billy snatched the necklace from him. "Must've dropped it when we were… um… yeah."

"Thanks," Billy breathed, reaching behind his neck to redo the clasp.

"I'm surprised you wore it in the pool," Steve added.

He turned around and picked his jeans up off the concrete. "I don't take it off."

"Is it special?" Steve asked.

Billy stepped into his pants and pulled them up. "It used to be my mom's."

Steve brushed a stray clump of wet hair out of his eyes. "Oh."

Billy wiggled his hips as he forced the tight jeans over his supple butt. He fastened the button and faced Steve. "She gave it to me a while back."

"I uh… heard you visited her recently," Steve said carefully.

He dropped into one of the deck chairs. "Max told you, huh?"

"Yeah. Was she supposed to?" Steve replied, taking the chair next to Billy.

Billy blew out a puff of smoke. "Not really, but I figured she'd blab about it anyway."

Steve put his cigarette out with his tongue and tucked it behind his ear. "Yeah… so uh, how's she doing?"

"My mom? She's alright," Billy answered blandly, "She's living in Connecticut, working in a nursing home."

Steve folded his arms behind his head and peered up at the sky. The clouds obscured most of the stars. "What's she like?"

Billy's brow furrowed. He considered the question for a few seconds, chewing on his cigarette. "Laid back. Patient. Good sense of humor."

"You get along alright with her?" Steve asked, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries.

"Always have," Billy said frankly.

Steve watched the blinking lights of an airplane slide across the sky. "Shit, that was a dumb question. You drove all that way to see her. 'Course you get along."

Billy gave a small smile. "She'd like you."

"What makes you say that?" Steve wondered.

"I dunno. Just a feeling." Billy admitted, taking another drag off his cigarette.

Steve watched the airplane until it disappeared behind the trees. "What did you guys do?"

"Not much. We mostly just caught up," he recalled, "There wasn't much we could do at the beach. Too cold."

"There are beaches in Connecticut?" Steve asked.

Billy rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, did you flunk geography? It's not far from Cape Cod."

Steve laughed. "I passed with a D."

" _Yes_ , there are beaches in Connecticut. My mom's apartment is pretty close to one," he explained, "We just took some walks out there."

"I take it she likes water as much as you do," Steve remarked.

Billy nodded. "I had to get it from somewhere."

"Surfing, too?" he added.

"She used to be into it, but she hasn't done it since I was a kid," Billy answered, sticking his cigarette back in his mouth. "Why do you care about all this shit, anyway?"

Steve's brow furrowed. "You just blew me. The _least_ I could do is ask you about how your spring break went."

Billy waved his hand dismissively. "I sucked you off because I wanted to, not because I was expecting a fucking therapy session in return."

"It's not _in exchange_ for the blow job, I'm just asking you about this stuff because I want to know more about you," Steve clarified.

Billy huffed. "You don't need to know more. What you see is what you get."

"Well, I _like_ what I see, so I wanna know more," Steve argued, realizing soon after that he was telling Billy he _liked_ him, like a thirteen-year-old girl.

"So you just get to interrogate me about stuff?" he retorted, crushing his cigarette into the dingy ash tray on the end table beside him.

Steve shrugged. "You can ask me things too if you want."

Billy folded his arms. "Alright, you asked for it."

"Oh God," Steve muttered.

"What's Nancy like in the sack?" he needled.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Jackass, I meant you could ask stuff about me, not Nancy."

"You asked about my family," Billy countered.

"Yeah, but it was normal stuff!" Steve said exasperatedly, sitting up. "Try to come up with questions that _don't_ involve sex."

"Fine," Billy groaned dramatically. He fiddled with the pendant on his chest, his forehead creasing in thought. "How was Max while I was gone?" he asked after a long pause.

"Well, it rained half the time, so we didn't really do much besides play Atari," he recalled.

"Explains why one of my games was missing." Billy quipped.

Steve clenched his teeth. "Oh, wow, she uh… must have done that when I was in the bathroom or something," he lied.

"She rifles through my shit all the time. If there's something I don't want her greasy little hands on, I just put it in my car." Billy complained.

"Max was really good otherwise," Steve amended, "She never snuck out or anything, and she did all of her chores."

Billy yawned. "Well, her goody-two-shoes act is up now. Apparently she destroyed Mrs. Wheeler's couch."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, Dustin told me about that. It wasn't just her, though. Them and their buddies were trying to make a scary movie and they got carried away with the fake blood."

"Shit, I didn't hear about that part," he said, raising his eyebrows, "Dustin's the fat kid who comes to our games, right?"

Steve scoffed. "He's not _that_ fat."

"What _is_ he, anyway? Like a cousin or something?" Billy wondered, "He's always following you around."

"He's my friend," Steve replied honestly.

Billy chuckled. "You ditched Hagan to hang out with a middle schooler?"

"You said it yourself a while back, man. Tommy is kind of an asshole," Steve reasoned, "Henderson, though? There's not a mean bone in that kid's body."

"Fair enough. It wouldn't kill ya to hang out with more people your own age, though," Billy teased.

Steve leaned back. "What's the point? We graduate in a month and most of our classmates are gonna leave for college."

He took out another cigarette. "True. I guess I'm not one to talk, since I never cared about making any friends in this dump anyway."

"You still in touch with people from your hometown?"

Billy sighed. "For the first few months after I came here I was. Not so much anymore."

"That's rough," Steve whispered.

He balanced the cigarette between his lips and lit it behind a cupped hand. "I figured it would happen. My friends… they weren't really the kind of people you'd chat on the phone with."

"Wow, I uh… never really thought about that, to be honest. You rolled up to Hawkins like some kind of celebrity," Steve said, lacing his fingers on his stomach.

"I'd rather be Joe Shmoe in California than a celebrity in Hawkins," Billy admitted.

Steve frowned. "I don't think I'd wanna be anything in Hawkins. Nothing good happens here anymore."

"Seems boring to me," Billy commented, "Like one of those little towns in a slasher movie."

 _If only you knew,_ Steve thought. "No doubt."

"Y'know, I think that'd be a pretty cool way to die," he mused, smoke streaming out of his nose, "Getting offed by a serial killer."

Steve curled his lip. "Why?"

"I'd be famous, and my old man would have to go on TV and lie about how great he thought I was," Billy elaborated. 

Steve's heart sank. "Well, uh… the rest of us wouldn't have to lie. Yeah, you're a dick, but it's not like that's all there is to you," he consoled.

Billy chuffed. "I also give good head."

"Okay, yeah, but you're also talented and determined. You're always trying to be the best at stuff," Steve observed, "Not just blowjobs-- everything."

"You're not so bad yourself," he put in, "You somehow got Max to respect you. That's worth something."

Steve grinned. "Partially," he corrected.

Billy laughed. "That's about as good as it's gonna get with that kid."

"Damn," Steve said lightly, "I can't imagine what it was like when your folks first got together."

Billy's jaw set. "A little bit better, actually. She had less of an attitude back then," he corrected, "It helped that we didn't live together."

"I think I know where she gets the attitude from," Steve said wryly.

"Well, it's not like she'd get it from Susan," Billy shot back.

"Your stepmom is like an Avon lady," Steve observed, "Almost the opposite of Max."

He nodded. "Opposite of my dad, too. Not sure what the hell she sees in him."

"Sometimes I wonder the same thing about my own parents," Steve said resignedly.

Billy took a drag off his cigarette and looked at Steve inquisitively.

"That's why they're gone tonight," he continued, "They're seeing some kind of shrink about their marriage."

"Goddamn, why do people even bother with that shit," Billy wondered aloud as the smoke dissipated from his lips.

"Love, I guess," Steve figured.

Billy sneered. "Of course _you'd_ say that, Casanova."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve muttered as he stood and stretched. "Anyway, I'm gonna put on some actual clothes."

Billy shook his head. "Damn shame."

"This thing is getting itchy," Steve rebuked, gesturing to the towel around his waist. He yawned and started over to the back door.

Steve almost jumped out of his skin when a hand struck his ass with an audible _smack_. His towel threatened to slip off as he rounded on Billy, his face reddening. "Dude!"

Billy shrugged innocently. "Couldn't resist."

"Obviously," Steve retorted, rolling his eyes. "I'll be upstairs. Try not to break anything."

He folded his arms behind his head and crossed his legs. "No promises."

The sliding door squeaked as Steve pushed it open. He was hit with a wave of warm air; the heater must have kicked on. It wasn't until he shut the door behind him that he realized how cold it had gotten outside. He must have been too preoccupied with Billy and his antics to notice. Scraped knees peaked out from under his towel as he lumbered up the stairs.

He didn't bother to close his bedroom door before getting dressed. It's not like Billy was going to see anything he hadn't before if he happened to walk in. Steve unraveled the towel from his hips and tossed it vaguely in the direction of his hamper. He unearthed a pair of blue sweatpants from his dresser and pulled them over his legs. If Billy was going to go commando, Steve figured he might as well, too. He reached for one of his white undershirts, but his hand stilled when he recalled the compliment Billy gave him on his chest hair. He wasn't ordinarily a fan of v-neck shirts, but he donned the only one he had for Billy's sake.

He was considering putting on a little bit of cologne when he heard the doorbell ring. "About time," he whispered to himself, realizing how hungry he was. As he descended the stairs, though, he noticed that Billy had already answered the door. His blood ran cold when he realized the person at the door wasn't the Chinese delivery guy.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" he heard Dustin ask incredulously.

"I could ask you the same thing," Billy retorted, "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Steve ran to the door, nearly tripping over a kink in the rug. "Henderson!" he shouted, shooing Billy aside.

"Dude, what's going on here?" Dustin demanded, lowering his voice, "Why are you fraternizing with the enemy?"

"What? I'm not fratter… _whatever_ -ing with anybody," he stammered. He didn't know how he was going to _begin_ to explain why Billy Hargrove was shirtless in his house at nine in the evening.

Billy was unfazed. "He's letting me borrow his pool," he interjected, "I'm getting ready for a lifeguard gig I have lined up."

Steve was unnerved by how naturally and effortlessly Billy lied, but he was relieved nonetheless. Dustin still looked slightly skeptical, but he seemed to accept Billy's explanation for the time being.

"Anyway," Dustin said, eyeing Billy cautiously, "I can't find my walkie. I think I left it in your car."

Steve was tempted to tell Dustin to just come back tomorrow, but it was possible that would just raise his suspicions more. "Shit, okay," he relented, "Sit tight, I gotta go find my keys."

Steve was grateful when Billy decided to follow him out back. He didn't want to know what would happen if he left Dustin and Billy alone together.

"Jesus, I'm sorry about this," he breathed as he rifled through his discarded jeans.

Billy shrugged and folded his arms. "Least he didn't show up earlier."

"That was some pretty quick thinking," Steve commented. He found his keys hooked to the belt loop.

"I've had a lot of practice," Billy replied bitterly.

Steve cleared his throat. "Right."

He returned to the front door and tossed Dustin the keys. "Make it quick."

The sound of grass crunching under Dustin's sneakers mingled with the jingle of the keyring. Steve lingered in the door frame, hoping to create a barrier between his best friend and the idiot he was fooling around with. He watched as Dustin fumbled with the car door, dropping the keys twice before managing to get it unlocked.

Dustin shouted something indecipherable, but based on his tone Steve could guess that he found the walkie-talkie. A wave of relief washed over him-- at least Dustin would be on his way soon. Under normal circumstances, Steve probably would have invited Dustin inside to shoot the shit for a little while, but Billy's presence had already raised too many questions in the short amount of time Dustin had been there.

Right as Dustin finished locking the car back up, a pair of headlights crested over the hill. He scrambled out of the street and watched bewilderedly from the lawn as the newcomer, a silver Ford Escort, pulled up behind the Beemer.

Steve recognized the driver. It was David Hu, a junior he'd seen in the hall a few times at Hawkins High. Hu's parents owned the little Chinese restaurant downtown, and he'd recently begun working for them as a delivery driver. Had Steve remembered ordering Chinese meant running into someone he went to school with, he definitely would have gotten pizza instead.

Before Steve could even wave to the guy getting out of the car, Billy forced his way through the door and out onto the porch. At least now, he was wearing a shirt.

"Finally," Billy grumbled as David approached the porch.

The junior glanced between the three of them. "Weird party, Steve," he commented.

Without a single word to the guy, Billy snatched the bag of food away.

"Hey, you've gotta pay for that!" David chided, jabbing a finger into Billy's chest.

Steve rolled his eyes. "It's fine, I've got it," he said, handing David the crumpled twenty, "Keep the change."

"Thanks," he said, pocketing the bill and walking back down the driveway, "Enjoy… whatever's going on here."

Billy chuffed and turned to Steve. "Damn Harrington, are you always this generous with other people's money?"

"Are you always this much of a jerk?" Dustin retorted.

Steve slapped Dustin's shoulder. "Cool your jets, dude."

"First you let this guy into your house, now you're buying him food?" Dustin spat.

Steve held up his hands. "It's a long story, dude."

Dustin leaned close and lowered his voice. "Is he blackmailing you?"

"Mind your own damn business, Pugsley." Billy threatened.

"Both of you stop, Jesus. He's not doing anything bad, Dustin. I'll explain later, but for now, you'll just have to trust me," Steve said firmly, then turned to Billy. "Try not to be a dick."

Billy rolled his eyes and padded back inside.

"And don't eat my half while I'm out here!" Steve called.

Dustin furrowed his brows, searching Steve's face. "This just doesn't seem kosher, dude. I can't forget what he did to your face."

"I know," Steve replied.

"Ms. Byers had to set your nose," he recalled.

Steve sighed. "He's an asshole, Henderson. That's not news to anybody," he agreed, "But maybe he doesn't have to be."

"Well, nobody _has_ to be an asshole, Steve," Dustin countered.

“You get what I mean, though. People don’t become jerks for no reason,” He explained, “If you’re friends with Max, you probably know why he’s like that.”

Dustin folded his arms. “Eleven’s been through worse, and _she_ doesn’t act like him.”

“That’s because she has you guys,” Steve pointed out, “There’s no one like you when it comes to him. He doesn’t have _friends_ , he has coattail-riders. They don’t give a shit about how he’s actually doing.”

The younger boy mulled it over for a few seconds. “Why do you care?”

“Because I was the same way when I met Nancy,” Steve admitted. _And if I’d changed sooner, Barb would still be here_ , he almost added.

“You weren’t _that_ bad,” Dustin argued, “And anyway, who’s to say he’s not just using you?”

Steve frowned. “For what?”

“I dunno. Your pool? Food? I guess you know him better than I do, but I feel like this could backfire.” He fretted.

"It could," Steve conceded, "But I feel like it's worth a shot."

Dustin fidgeted with the antenna on the walkie-talkie.

"Hey," Steve said, placing his hand on Dustin's shoulder, "I'm not gonna let him turn me back into King Steve."

His expression softened and he gave Steve a light shove. "He better not."

"Now go back home before your mom boxes my ears." Steve replied, slapping the boy's shoulder.

  
  
  


When Steve went back inside, he found Billy in the living room, chowing down on a box of noodles like he hadn't eaten in a month. It reminded him of the enormous serving sizes Max's mom fixed when Steve stayed for dinner. Luckily his own order hadn't yet been hoovered up by his ravenous guest. He grabbed his container of chow mein and dropped next to Billy on the couch. A rerun of the Twilight Zone was playing on the TV, though Billy was only barely paying attention.

Steve dug into his dinner, belatedly realizing how hungry he was. The starchy noodles settled in his stomach quickly, adding to his sleepiness. He was having some sort of conversation with Billy about whatever episode was playing, but he was too zoned out to absorb what the other boy was saying. He drifted to sleep shortly thereafter, the empty takeout box rolling onto the floor.

Even though it felt like he'd only closed his eyes for a few seconds, he must have been asleep for nearly an hour, because he was awoken by the sound of the garage door opening. He stood up in a panic, glancing around the room. He could see the bottle of rum and several discarded cups on the patio through the window. Billy had also fallen asleep, snoring softly with his head pillowed on the armrest. Under different circumstances, it would have been cute, but Steve didn't have time to admire his sleeping companion.

Steve shoved him. "Hey! Dude, get up."

"Fuck off," He mumbled, rolling over.

"My parents are home, dumbass! Get up!" Steve demanded, pulling on Billy's arm.

Billy groaned and sat up. "Jesus. What time is it?"

"I don't know, but they can't see you here," Steve replied urgently. He heard a car door slam in the garage.

He pulled away from Billy and stumbled into the backyard, where he began frantically gathering up cups and cans. Billy stifled a yawn as he sauntered out after Steve and picked up his leather boots. All that remained after Steve's hasty clean-up was his own discarded clothes and the empty bottle of rum.

Steve picked it up and forced it into Billy's hands. "Take this."

He curled his lip. "The fuck do you want me to do with this?"

"Toss it out when you're the on road or something, I dunno. Just get rid of it." Steve ordered. "Shit, are you good to drive?"

Billy chuffed and tossed his boots over the picket fence. "Mostly."

Steve pursed his lips. "Try to drive safe," he replied, his fingers ghosting over Billy's arm.

Billy smiled earnestly. "I'll see you around, Steve," he said, before jumping the fence and disappearing into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know it's been five months. Depression is a hell of a drug.


End file.
